(A Mid-1900s State Of The Nation Chapter: featuring School Children, Cowboys, Irishmen Going Into Politics, Germans Getting Drunk, Courtship At Coney Island & College Kids Behaving Badly!)
The 20th Century had
arrived. New-fangled inventions were popping up every day. The world was
changing faster than it had ever changed before. A lot of people were excited.
But an equal number of people – possibly even a greater number of people – felt
troubled, anxious, yearning for the security and the safety of the past.
Yearning for the countryside, distrusting the hustle and bustle of the city.
The feeling of nostalgia was
strong.
No Broadway musical quite
captured the mass market appeal of nostalgia than the one based on an elderly
couple by the name of Nellie and Joe. Nellie is complaining that there is
nothing to do. Joe suggests they take a trip. But this trip is not on an airship,
it’s on a Memory Ship! And so they sail back to the old village schoolhouse,
where they see themselves as children, singing a tune that went:
“School days, school days
Dear old Golden Rules days
Readin' and 'ritin' and
'rithmetic
Taught to the tune of the
hickory stick”
Nellie and Joe are feeling so
nostalgic for their youth, that they wax lyrical about being wacked with a
stick.
The children they see aren’t
there anymore. They too have grown old. Neither is the schoolhouse. Nor the old
oak tree, which they also fondly remember. A forty-storey apartment now stands
where it stood. The meadows have become “new city lots.” It’s that rare thing:
a song about two friends reminiscing about the ol’ times, whilst also serving
as a protest song against urban expansion and high density living.* It also
served to romanticize old-fashioned country living; the kind of old-fashioned
country living that bumpkins out in the country still lived.
The Broadway aficionados of New
York had a complicated relationship with country bumpkins. And hillbillies. And
rubes. Many of them had rube-ic roots. That’s who they had been when
they were children, before they headed off to the bright lights - with a stint
in a minstrel show/circus/travelling medicine show along the way.
This indeed was the life-story of
Egbert van Altsyne, who grew up in Marengo, a quaint little town half-way
between Chicago and Milwaukee.
From a New York point-of-view
this was basically the Wild West. Harry Williams was born even further out, in Faribault,
just south of Minneapolis. They both arrived in New York at the very moment
that popular culture - partially due to Buffalo Bill, partially due to
President Teddy dressing up like a cowboy whenever he had the chance – had
reached peak-obsession with cowboys, Indians, and the Wild West in general.
They found each other and they worked together; a two-man production line
churning out cowboy-flavoured compositions for a country that couldn’t get
enough of them.**
Since the cowboy was by
definition a lonely figure – out on his own, with only his horse and a herd of
cattle for company – many of these songs were based on that dismal trope.
There was “Cheyenne (Shy Ann)” in
which a cowboy – seemingly not a particularly successful one, as he only
possesses a pony - proposes to a shy cowgirl called Ann, and they ride the
cowboy’s pony to Cheyenne – the Magic City of the Plains - because, being the
most bustling township for multitudes of miles around, they have a preacher there. Shortly before
they arrived, Shy Ann changes her mind - “I feel like turning back,” she says,
“not marrying” – to which the cowboy replies that she has a choice to make;
marry him and continue riding their pony… or walk all the way back home.
Chivalry, it appears, was already dead. Shy Ann, incredible as it might appear,
agrees to these terms, so they get married after all and this is regarded as a
happy ending.
Then there was “San Antonio”,
another Harry Williams’ tune, featured in a musical called “The Isle of Bong
Bong”***, set – if the sheet music is any indication – somewhere in the Middle
East. “The Isle Of Bong Bong” itself, in the musical, was set in The
Philippines. It was also a floating island. The exact, or even vague, location
of Bong Bong, was obviously irrelevant - and since it was a floating island,
most likely impermanent - so irrelevant that the musical featured a song named
after a city in Texas.
“San Antonio” tells the story of two cowboys, Bill and Jim. Bill wants to go to San Antonio for the wine, the women and the song. But Jim is grumpy because his girl stole his pony – in the Wild West of Harry Williams’ imagination, nobody seems to ride actual horses, just ponies – and went off with Tenderfoot Tony. Jim doesn’t seem particularly upset about it though. He’s quite convinced that she’ll come back to him, for no tenderfoot like Tony, can love her like her boy Jim. There’s another reason Jim doesn’t sound upset; the song is being sung by Billy Murray, and Billy Murray didn’t do sad. Also, he’s backed by jaunty marching band with a particularly over-zealous trombone player (“San Antonio” is a 5).
Despite all of these cowboy and
Indian songs Harry and Egbert’s biggest hit was an extremely typical love song
of the era - “In The Shade Of The Old Apple Tree” – one that combined two of
Tin Pan Alley’s favourite tropes (a) the swearing eternal love on the banks of
a bubbling brook, with orioles singing and village bells ringing, and (b)
death. For after swearing eternal love, he goes off to make his fortune in the
city, whilst she remains back at home, and dies.
At least that’s what happens in
the sheet music. But either due to a shortage of shellac, or a desire not to be
too depressing, most recorded versions omitted the verse about the death****.
The sadness of “In The Shade Of The Old Apple Tree” was simply too sad for
public consumption. It was too tear-jerky a conclusion even in that
tear-jerkin’ age.*****
Pulling in the other direction from all the rural tear-jerkers and cowboy songs, were songs that celebrated the hustle and the bustle of the cities. Particularly New York where the Tin Pan Alley tunesmiths – notwithstanding the backwoods farming communities they originally grew up in - now called home. Also, where George M. Cohan called home. Also, where the bulk of theatre critics in America called home. Those critics were snickering snidely to one another. They were asking “was George even capable of writing a hit song that you couldn’t wave your flag to? Could he even write a song that didn’t sample great big chunks of other, already hugely famous, songs?”
He could, and in fact, he already
had. He could, and had, written musicals that dealt with socio-economic divide
between America’s big, bustling, exciting cities – particularly New York, and
even more specifically Broadway – and the quiet, dull, countryside peopled by
Ruebens and jays. George and his family had travelled all over America and if
they had learnt one thing it was that New Yorkers considered themselves better
than Reubens and jays.
George M. had written the musical
“The Governor’s Son” including the song “Too Many Miles Away From Old
Broadway,” in which he discusses the pros and cons of his sweetheart’s village.
On the pro side the grass is greener, the eggs are fresher. This is all good.
But… it’s too many miles from the hustle and bustle of Broadway, and this,
after all, is what he lives for.
George M. reprised these themes
in “45 Minutes From Broadway”, featuring another plot centring around
who is going to receive a millionaire’s inheritance, with the titular hit
partially continuing the Reuben-ridicule, whilst also celebrating the fact that
the divide between city and country, was – due to rail travel and other exciting
developments - becoming narrower by the day. Although still not so narrow that
a town less than an hour by train away, couldn’t still seem decades behind.
Mary – the heroine of “45 Minutes
From Broadway” – was a small town girl from Schenectady, just outside of Albany
and therefore significantly more than 45 minutes away from Broadway. Having
moved to New Rochelle she falls in love with an accountant from New York, a kid
who talks fast, or worst still, talks New York. No-one can understand him. New
York, as depicted by George M. was a fast-talkin’ town filled with
unintelligible slang.
As for the folks of New Rochelle,
George M. described them as rubes who had “hay in their whiskers.” The
town-elders were not too happy about this. They tried to sue him. Maybe they
hadn’t heard one of the other big hits from “45 Minutes”, the one sung by Mary,
a simple-country girl proud of her modest origins, who casts aspersions on the
morals of any girl pretentious enough to call herself Marie. Mary feels that
anyone who calls themselves Marie is also likely to bleach their hair, a
scandalous beauty regime.
“Mary’s A Grand Old Name” –
“grand old” being one of George’s go-to phrases at the time – was performed on
Broadway by Fay Templeton, one of the most glamorous Broadway stars of the era
and one who would almost certainly call herself Marie if given the option. The
most popular recorded version was by Ada Jones, who almost certainly would not.
Prior to becoming the leading
lady of the phonograph industry in the second half of the 1900s, Ada Jones had
been one of the attractions at Huber’s Museum, a freak-show dime-museum. To
give you an idea of the tone of the entertainment Ada was competing with at
Huber’s, it was the New York venue for Welton’s Boxing Cats – the same boxing
cats as from the short film produced by Edison studios – as well as “the rarest
freaks of nature,” including Jo-Jo The Dog Faced Boy and The Smallest Living
Horse. Also, at one point, Houdini. They also possessed one of the most
commonplace attractions at such freak-store dime-museums: a fat lady. Just to
be crystal clear, this was not Ada herself.
Of all the freak-show
dime-museums in America, Huber’s was cutting edge since it was also a
nickelodeon, very possibly the first in the East Village. So Ada was surrounded
by both the most forward-thinking technological developments and the most
backwards-looking entertainment options, the perfect training for her new
recording career which included a spoken-word comedy record with Len Spencer
about an entertainment complex far more famous and big-budget than Huber’s
Museum… “Jimmie and Maggie at the Hippodrome”!
The Hippodrome was vaudeville at
its biggest and most spectacular! It was where Houdini had once made an
elephant disappear! I’m pretty sure he couldn’t do that at Huber’s!! The
biggest theatre on Earth – or so they said – it had a capacity of 5,300 - not
including the 1,000 performers that could fit on the stage itself! - with
banners flying from its roof like a castle, and a Moorish dome stuck on one
corner.
Although both Len and Ada could
sing – more or less - “Jimmie and Maggie at the Hippodrome” is not a song. It’s
a comedy routine, featuring the duo “oooh”ing and “aaah-ing” at everything they
see: “oooh gee see the wild man and the dog-faced boy”, “aaaw look at the bearded lady.” “oh look at
soldiers” “I hope they fight” And then they do! We hear the sound of a battle,
right on the stage! Which in fact was something that did occur, most notably on
opening night when the Hippodrome recreated a battle from the Civil War!!
Len Spencer and Ada Jones did
quite a few of these spoken comedy duets; but the mischievousness of her voice
– not to mention the shrillness – meant that she soon found herself singing, mostly
cutesy, sentimental, ladylike stuff, such as “Keep A Cosey Little Corner In
Your Heart For Me” (it’s a 3) and “Just A Little Rocking Chair And You” (it’s
another 3) As well as one of the last “coon songs” to feel a complete lack of
shame about the fact that it was very clearly a “coon song”: “If The Man In The
Moon Was A Coon.”******
Ada would soon find a
duet-partner to sing with instead of just making comic “ooohs” and “aaaahs”,
and yes, that duet-partner would be Billy Murray, who was still singing George
M. Cohan hits, and George M. was still having hits because he had embraced the
sure-fire strategy of writing a sequel to “45 Minutes From Broadway”, called
“The Talk Of New York City.”
The plot may have been much the
same, but George M. could still write a thought-provoking tune, such as “When A
Fellow’s On The Level With A Girl That’s On The Square”, which questions that
if a guy only likes a girl for her looks and a girl only likes a guy for his
money, is it really love? By the time the chorus comes around the second time,
you are convinced: only poor ugly people can ever truly be in love. (Billy
Murray’s version of “When A Fellow… On The Square” is a 5)
Right at the other socio-economic
extreme “The Talk of New York” also included “Under Any Old Flag At All”, an
anthem for the Gilded Age and a great big boast by a rich man that he can go
anywhere in the world and everything will be laid out for him; “they never ask
your name around the Earth, they only ask you just how much you are worth.” And
that “with a good supply of money, everything is milk and honey.” The author of
his own rags to riches story that sometimes seemed about as unlikely as
suddenly, unexpectedly, inheriting a million dollars, George was a big fan of
celebrating being rich. George M. also starts off by calling a friend of his “a
patriotic crank”, which feels an odd criticism for him to make (Billy’s version
of “Under Any Old Flag At All” is a 5)
George M. wasn’t the only tunesmith in love with New York. Harry von Tilzer was also a fan.
Harry seemed to love New York because it was a
city designed for young couples in love. A city designed for young couples to
have fun. Harry von Tilzer liked it when young couples had fun. He liked all
the things that they did together: trolley rides, eating ice-cream, dancing the
waltz, walking in the sun. In hit song after hit song, Harry painted idyllic
scenes of youngsters engaged in innocent activities: young men, who invariably
went by the name of Joe, dating girls like Maudie or Molly or Pearlie, taking
them to Coney Island for the day. Coney Island was, in the words of Harry’s “All Aboard For
Dreamland”, the land of icecream and kisses. It was also where the bliss is.
And all just a short trolley ride away. Byron Harlan recorded an utterly
out-of-tune version of it, only slightly remedied by the inclusion of every
fun-fair effect that Edison Records could find (it’s a 2).
Coney Island had everything. The
Ferris Wheel had made its debut at the Chicago World Fair, but within a few
years, Coney Island had one too! And then it got another!! Ferris Wheels were
perfect for dates since a fear of heights provided the perfect excuse for
holding hands. Even better, Coney Island boasted a ride called the Giant
Seesaw, which in addition to being a giant seesaw, had two mini Ferris Wheels!
One at each end!
But Coney Island wasn’t just one
amusement park! Coney Island boasted multiple amusement parks! There was
Steeplechase Park, where couples and families could ride around a track on
wooden horses using a kind of half merry-go-round/half roller-coaster-ride
contraption. That was fun enough in itself, but in order to enter the ride
passengers needed to run the gauntlet of midget clowns blowing the skirts up of
the ladies whilst whacking the gentlemen on the back with an electric cattle
prod! Blowing up ladies’ dresses turns out to have been a popular pastime, even
in the most unsuspecting of attractions, such as a replica of Noah’s Ark.
There was Luna Park, so called
because its key attraction was a trip to the Moon, complete with a meeting with
the inhabitants, the Selenites, who had spikes on their backs. Also in
attendance was The Man On The Moon himself sitting on his throne, plus some
Moon Maids handing out samples of green cheese!
Another building – not in Luna
Park, but just down the road – claimed to be a simulation of a trip to the
North Pole! Yet another, recreated a hurricane that had destroyed the Texan
town of Galveston a couple of years before!! Plus a recreation of the San
Francisco Earthquake!!! There had also been, at one point, although it burnt
down in 1896, an elephant shaped hotel/brothel!
Then there was “Dreamland” – of
which the tune was obviously referring to – where, in addition to its own
collection of rollercoasters and slides - one adorably called “Drop The Dips”,
another called “Loop The Loop” - included a “midget city” with a population of
300, called Liliputa.
With so many dating options in
New York and its environs, Harry – usually with help from lyricist Andrew
Sterling – had enough material for multiple dating songs, the biggest of which
was “On A Sunday Afternoon”, a title which, it turns out, rhymes with both “in
the merry month of June” and “you can see lover’s spoon.” “On A Sunday
Afternoon” may also have been the first recorded example of rhyming “Sunday”
with “fun day.” It would not be the last time that somebody would use that
rhyme.
In addition to being full of
options for dating activities, New York was full of immigrants, from every
corner of the globe. America was attracting dreamers across the Atlantic,
dreaming of escaping from the tyrant monarchs of Europe. There were Jews and
Germans. Russians and Poles. Hungarians and Slovaks. Irish and Italians. Their
first stop would be New York, or more specifically, the Lower East Side, the
most crowded neighbourhood in the world.
Striving to break free from the
tenements many turned to songwriting. Although the voices singing on the
cylinders may have felt like a homogenous male white holler, the tunesmiths
writing the songs that all-of-America was humming were often either migrants,
or the children of migrants. Their songs reflected this. They reflected a
migrants’ version of America.
Once they had arrived in New
York, migrants needed help. They needed help in finding employment, in finding
someplace to live. Some of this assistance they could find in their own
cultural communities. But they could also obtain support from Tammany Hall, the
Democratic Party-political machine that was famous for its ability to find jobs
for new immigrants, but which was far more famous for being insanely corrupt.
They were also famous for being native born white Americans with a fascination
for indigenous American culture and consequently calling their meeting places
“wig-wams.”
Tammany Hall’s influence over
American politics in general and New York politics in particular was enough to
inspire one of the biggest and most unlikely hits of 1905: “Tammany (A Pale
Face Pow Wow)”, written by Vincent Bryan and Gus Edwards, fresh from success
with “In My Merry Oldsmobile.”
“Tammany (A Pale Face Pow Wow)”
offers a surprisingly detailed history of the society, stretched out over at
least eight verses that they managed to scribble down in a single hour sprint
(as opposed to marathon) session. “Tammany (A Pale Face Pow Wow)” begins by
reminding the listener of all the native Americans who were killed by the white
man, in order to emphasize, by way of contrast, the invincibility of Tammany
Hall (“there’s one band of Indians that will never die”), before moving on to
blaming them for President Adam’s defeat, accusing them of attempting to kill
Rev Parkhurst with chloroform, suggesting that Cassie Chadwick - America’s
greatest con-artist, famous for defrauding millions by pretending to be the
heiress of wealthy industrialists - should join the society and finally
predicting that William Hearst would expose them and bring them down. William
was starting his own political party and was running for Mayor of New York at
the time. He lost the election. Almost everyone suspected that Tammany Hall had
rigged it.
“Tammany (A Pale Face Pow Wow)”
is quite an epic and may be the most commercially successful political tune of
the era. And showing that they could take a joke – or showing potentially their
own complex relationship with Tammany Hall – it became the theme song for the
New York Democratic Party club.
Since you can’t possibly fit the
whole eight verses of “Tammany Hall” on a single cylinder, none of the recorded
versions cover the entire thing. Billy Murray’s version opted for the
chloroform accusations. It also opted for an arrangement of tribal drums to
emphasize the native American connection. Other hit recordings went further:
the Arthur Collins & Byron Hyland version went extremely hard on the Indian
war-whoops.
Tammany Hall was also mentioned
in “Nothing’s Too Good For The Irish,” a boastful celebration about the success
of Irish migrants in succeeding in politics. At one point the narrator promises
that his son will be President one day, or, possibly even more ambitiously,
marry the Queen and free Ireland from the British. Meanwhile, other races
appear to be good at, well, often less glamorous occupations.
“Dutchmen were made for to
carry coal in shovels,
Italians for organs and Englishmen to mash;
Chinese for washing, the Japs for a juggling show,
“Nagurs” for whitewashing, the Jews were made for cash.
Cubans for cigarettes, the Portuguese to sail the seas,
Scotchmen for bakers and Frenchmen for style,
Russians for mining, Americans for liberty.
But the men ’twas made for office was sons of Erin’s Isle,”
No song captured New York’s
cultural melting pot quite like it. Nor the mass market appeal of ethnic
stereotype humour. Although “coon songs” were the dominant form of ethnic
stereotype humour, there was also a vibrant “Dutch songs” scene, which, just to
be confusing, ridiculed German immigrants; mostly their struggles with
the English language. Less meanspirited were a whole bunch of songs that
celebrated the one fact that all Americans knew about the Germanic peoples:
that they drank a lot of beer. Naturally Harry von Tilzer - birth name Gummblinsky
– wrote a number of them.
At one point during the 1890s,
following his stints tumbling in a travelling circus and singing in a
travelling medicine show, Harry had performed in a “Dutch act”. Harry’s “Dutch
act” was never anywhere near as popular as that of Weber & Fields, but it
was enough to get him out of the circus and medicine show circuits and –
combined with his own ethnic background – provided him with the skills to write
“Under The Anheuser Bush.”
“Under The Anheuser Bush” is a
courtship tune, of sorts. A “tootsie-wootsie” courtship tune, featuring a
couple – an unidentified male and a sweetheart named Sue - who’ve gone to a
play. Sue wants to go home. The anonymous male wants to stay out and make a
night of it. He wants to take sweetheart Sue for a lager or two. Or a sandwich
and a stein with some good fellows. He wants to hold Sue’s hand. All of which
is far more boisterous than the walking along a bubblin’ brook dates that Tin
Pan Alley types usually offered.
What does sweetheart Sue say to
this suggestion? There’s really only one response she can possibly give: “JA!”
And which beer does our beau wish
to swallow with Sue? The fact that it’s clearly named after the company that
owns Budweiser – Anheuser Busch – should give it away, particularly given that,
in an early example of product placement in pop, they specifically mention the
beer in the chorus.
The biggest recorded hit version
of “Under The Anheuser Bush” was by Arthur Collins and better-half in the
Two-Tonne Duo, Byron Harlan. Arthur and Byron would end up becoming the leading
proponents of novelty records for the next decade or so – many of which would
basically be “coon songs” in everything but name – with much of their initial
success coming from this series of novelty German drinking songs. Neither
Arthur nor Byron was German, but I think we have established by now that this
was in no way considered an issue, or even at all relevant (The Two-Tonne Duo
version of “Under The Anheuser Bush” is a 4)
“Under The Anheuser Bush”
followed another Harry hit, “Where The Wurzburger Flows” where the Rhine may be
fine, but a cold stein is mine! ****** There is no role for a woman in
“Where The Wurzburger Flows” so Byron sings male-backing vocals instead, albeit
in a shriller register than Arthur’s beer-barrel baritone, both of them
sounding as though they were waving foaming steins back and forth as they sing
together (“Where The Wurzburger Flows” is a 3)
Also amongst the short list of
things that the average American knew about Germans, was that they played in
brass marching bands, as evidenced “The Leader Of The German Band” – not
written by Harry von Tilzer this time, but by Morse and Madden – which predominately
serves as an exercise in rhyming their Germanic names - “Schmidt makes such a
hit”, “Schmalz may have his faults” – whilst the band demonstrates their love
of both their homeland and their adopted home by playing both German tunes and
“Yankee Doodle.” Arthur and Byron’s version of “The Leader Of The German Band”
includes half-assed attempts at singing in a German accent, although to be fair
that is more than the song itself actually demands. The narrator is watching
the German band, not playing in it. There is no reason to assume the narrators
themselves are also of Germanic stock (“The Leader Of The German Band” is a 3).
If there was any demographic group in America more famous for their drinking than the Dutch/Deutsch/Germans, it was college students, subject of their own school of Tin Pan Alley tunes, “college songs.” Whilst Arthur and Byron may have been the leading proponents of “Dutch songs” – and also “coon songs” – the leading proponent of “college songs” was our friend Billy Murray. This is likely because “college songs” tended to feature loads and loads of “HOORAH!! HOORAH!!!” in them, and Billy had had a whole lot of experience going “HOORAH!! HOORAH!!” whilst singing George Cohen songs. This was his element.
Billy was never
in his element more than when singing “College Life”, a song of youthful
hijinks without consequences, a celebration of despicable and despicably
privileged college students hazing fellow students, boasting of a lifestyle of
“nothing to do but stay up all night, make believe study, play cards and fight”
and “Mother and father pay all our bills, and we have all the fun.” What sort
of fun are we talking about? What sort of hazing were the best minds of their
generation engaging in? According to “College Life” hazing activities included:
·
Making “little fellows” stand upon one hand and
pour things in his ear
·
Force him to eat his gloves and shoes
·
Take all his money to buy themselves booze
·
Shave off his hair and shampoo him with beer
But it’s all in
good fun: “When we haze our fellow man in friendly strife, that is a game that
is glorious, we don’t mean of course to cripple him for life.” But they often
did anyway.
The songwriters
were not making this up. Well, maybe some of the specific details, but hazing
was a national problem. From the 1890s onwards there appears to have been a
sudden upshoot in deaths by hazing. Oscar Booz at West Point died in 1900, from
tuberculosis that had been aggravated by having hot sauce poured down his
insides and hot wax poured down his outsides. Just to clarify, these pourings
occurred on different occasions. Since it occurred at West Point this resulted
in Congressional hearings, and hence much publicity. Children started to be
inspired to come up with their own hazing schemes, and thus the problem became
exponentially worse. But it did lead to a bunch of fun songs.******* What with
the marching band and a swarm of WASPs cheering “Hurrah!” behind him, “College
Life” is the perfect distillation of early-period Billy (it’s a 6).
But back to where we began this chapter, back to “School Days”, the musical that more than any other captured the push and pull between the city and the country. “School Days” was written and produced by vaudevillian Gus Edwards with his friend Will D. Cobb, who he met whilst entertaining soldiers during the Spanish-American War, shortly after he’d written his first hit. It was a “coon song” – of course - called “All I Want Is My Black Baby Back.”
Gus was an extremely busy fellow,
writing hits, ******** starting up his own publishing company and putting
together his own vaudeville revenue. He called it “School Boys And Girls”, the
cast being made up of just that; school boys and girls.
Hiring kids – or teenagers at
least – to be vaudeville stars took up a lot of Gus’ time. He was constantly on
the lookout for new talented kids. So many talented kids that… let’s just say
that suspicions were raised. He’d already produced a successful show filled
with teenage boys by the name of “Gus Edwards' Postal Telegraph Boys” of 1906,
in which the boys – including a very young Groucho Marx - played pranks whilst
they sang Gus’ songs. But it was “School Boys And Girls” that was the big hit
musical.
If “School Boys And Girls” was
the big hit musical, then “School Days” – or, to use its full title, “School
Days (When We Were A Couple Of Kids)” - was the big hit from that big hit. And
the big hit recorded version was by Byron Harlan, who hollers the tune as
though he’s still at school and is being forced to recite his multiplication
tables. There are moments of light-heartedness – the bells that are rung before
the chorus, the way he rolls his r’s when singing “Rrrreading, and rrrrriting
and rrrrithmetic” – but it rarely feels as though the memories are very
pleasant at all! Why would he ever want to go back? (Byron’s version of “School
Days” is a 2*********)
Sentimental songs by Byron Harlan
were so popular in 1907 that about the only record that challenged “School
Days” as the biggest record of the year, was also by Byron. Whilst “My Gal Sal”
might sound like another nostalgic lament, it was written by by Paul Dresser,
and as we know, Paul Dresser was a man who had lived quite a life! A life that
had by now been over for about two years. A life that included a proclivity to
have friendships with prostitutes. Which was, almost certainly, what “My Gal
Sal” was about.
“My Gal Sal” is an upbeat eulogy
about a friend who died of an unspecified illness, who was “a wild sort of
devil, but dead on the level.” A friend that may be Sallie Walker, the madam at
the local brothel in Evansville, Indiana where he lived for a few years, and
with whom he had a relationship. They broke up because he kept on sleeping with
other prostitutes.
“Everything is over”, “My Gal
Sal” begins, rather melodramatically, “and I’m feeling sad.” Byron believes
that such devastating sadness is best expressed by belting out each and every
note in a bleating sob. It’s the same bleating sob he used for “School Days”,
despite “School Days” being a nominally happy song whilst “My Gal Sal” is very
much not (“My Gal Sal” is a 2).
Vaudeville revues featuring kids naturally needed more cutesy kid songs, or at least cutesy songs in which older people reminisced about being kids; more specifically involving kids having crushes on each other in adorable kid-krush ways.
And so “School Days (When We Were A Couple Of Kids)” was shortly followed up by the impossibly wholesome “Sunbonnet Sue (When I Was A Kid So High)”, in which the narrator sees Sue in her new Sunday bonnet, and starts to dream of back when he was a little boy kissing the little girl version of “Sunbonnet Sue” and finds that it tastes nicer than pie. He found it so nice he kisses her twice. If all of this wasn’t twee enough, when they first met they said ‘Howdy-Do.” (Byron recorded this one too, and it’s a 3)It was all incredibly sweet and sentimental. But it wasn’t exactly sexy. Not to worry, for Tin Pan Alley was about to discover sex. In its own cutesy and innocent sounding way. Consider itthe “Spoon”-ing Revolution.
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