Theatre and radio organists: John Gart

As of March 20, 2024, the content of this post, including a list of musical topics and some musical examples, has been moved to a file published on the Texas ScholarWorks platform: Film Music: Some Posts from Blogs. 

Theatre and radio organists: Fred Feibel

As of March 20, 2024, the content of this post, including annotated musical examples, has been moved to a file published on the Texas ScholarWorks platform: Film Music: Some Posts from Blogs. 

Frank Skinner at Universal, part 2

In a previous post I wrote: "Skinner worked to formula in a musical style that was the lingua franca for Hollywood in the 1930s but had begun to sound a bit old-fashioned when paired with high-quality widescreen image tracks in the 1950s. His music for action scenes (sword fights, battles, etc.), in particular, sounds dated, as if it were stock music taken from 1930s B-films."

Although the generalization stands -- one need only compare Skinner's scores with contemporaries such as Alex North (examples: Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? or The Misfits) or late-career masters like Franz Waxman (Spirit of St. Louis) to get the point -- the specific statement about music for action scenes needs qualification. Under Joseph Gershenson, who had been a producer but became music department head in 1949, Universal maintained the practice of collaborative scoring much longer than did other studios. This was by no means always the case, especially later in the 1950s (except for the title song, for example, Skinner wrote all the underscore for Written on the Wind), but even when one composer wrote most of the music, action scenes were often scored by someone else -- or drawn from Universal's large music library, whose holdings stretched back to the mid-1930s.

Action scenes were particularly prone to being shunted off to someone other than the principal composer because they were almost always generic -- that is, they rarely involved thematic material from the film; they were there to increase excitement and tension. Furthermore, unless there was some reason for close synchronization, most any "hurry" would do -- then, pulling something out of the library often made sense and also saved time (hurries are note-heavy) and money (especially if a recording could be re-used).

You can get information about a film's music from Clifford McCarty's Film Composers in America: A Filmography, 1911-1970 (2d ed., 1999) -- he made a thorough study of studio cue sheets, conductor scores, and other archival sources. His results, however, don't always match those given on IMDb, whose information about music seems to be taken mostly from the databases of rights organizations like ASCAP and BMI.

A simple example: McCarty credits Skinner and Hans Salter for the music to The Rawhide Years (they do both receive screen credit), but IMDb adds Eric Zeisl as composer of "stock music, uncredited." Zeisl's name appears in the ASCAP records for the film.

An example of collaborative work and re-use: Herman Stein received screen credit for The Unguarded Moment. McCarty lists Henry Mancini under "additional composition." ASCAP has an entry for Mancini but also one for Skinner. Stein's theme for the film was re-used in Imitation of Life (Skinner) and two of Mancini's cues were re-used in The Tattered Dress (also Skinner). In both cases, I took the information from the studio cue sheets.

Frank Skinner at Universal

Frank Skinner's career at Universal spanned nearly thirty years, from 1938 to 1966. The composer did yeoman's work, as did others ranging from Hans Salter in the '30s to Henry Mancini in the '50s, under the music department's head, Joseph Gershenson. Like Paramount, but unlike Warner Bros., orchestral underscore for a film was often a group job, for which Gershenson alone received screen credit for music supervision.

I am currently finishing up a project to digitize more than 60 films for which Skinner himself composed an orchestral underscore. The films are mostly from the late 1940s through about 1960, VHS dubs from television a decade or so back, when the American Movie Channel (AMC) was still showing a large number of Universal-International films without commercial breaks. A majority, unfortunately, are in widescreen format that has been reduced by pan-and-scan, but AMC clearly had access to excellent prints and, apart from the formatting changes, image and sound track quality are quite acceptable, even when passed through television and VHS to mpg files.

Skinner worked to formula in a musical style that was the lingua franca for Hollywood in the 1930s but had begun to sound a bit old-fashioned when paired with high-quality widescreen image tracks in the 1950s. His music for action scenes (sword fights, battles, etc.), in particular, sounds dated, as if it were stock music taken from 1930s B-films. On the other hand, his main title cues stand out as remarkably tuneful: Skinner often gives a perfunctory nod to the clichéd opening maestoso, then quickly drops into a soaring melody whose style may or may not be directly related to the film's setting or story. These tunes are generally too intense ("heavy") to be associated with the female lead--they typically recur in dramatic emotional situations between the principal male and female characters. In that sense, one might say, they mark an advance on the 1930s-era two-part main title cue. (See HtM, chapter 6, for discussion of the design of establishing sequences.)

How and What to Play For Moving Pictures

The catalogues of Seredy, Rapee, Borodkin and Hastings all date from the 1920s and they emphasize orchestral music. The same is true for the most elaborate of these catalogues, the Allgemeines Handbuch der Film-Musik of Erdmann and Becce.

The idea of a list of music catalogued by topics occurred early, however. Numerous times in the early days of his column, Clarence E. Sinn had mentioned a list he had compiled and was willing to share with correspondents for the cost of postage—though he declined to publish it in his column and so the extent of its coverage remains unclear.

The first publication I’m aware of that sees cataloguing music by topic as key to the whole enterprise is Lyle C. True’s How and What to Play for Moving Pictures: A Manual and Guide for Pianists (1914), which, aside from a two page introduction (reproduced below), consists almost entirely of a list of compositions catalogued by topic. Earlier publications had also contained topically arranged lists of compositions as part of longer works, but these lists were initially fairly short and clearly conceptualized as appendices rather than a primary order of musical knowledge.

The primacy given to the categorization is what changes with True's collection, even though his treatise remains relatively short: 11 pages of catalogue proper divided into about a dozen categories (some with subdivisions). In addition, he includes 7 additional pages that analyze well-known operas, operettas, and overtures into categories and also provide a list of some common, useful popular songs.

Here is the preface:

How and What to Play for Motion Pictures

The motion picture pianist who would be above the mere mechanical devices in playing for the picture must, first of all, take his work seriously. He should be able at once to recognize the dramatic possibilities of a picture and to augment and support them through the medium of his art.

It is obvious, of course, that the solo pianist has an advantage over two or more musicians through being able to watch the pictures and play at the same time. He can instantly follow each change of mood and character, and support the climaxes as it becomes desirable.

It is not sufficient, in many cases, merely to select a number of compositions of a given character, and to play them through as the drama is shown on the screen. To do so is to miss completely the scores of opportunities that arise for fitting the music to the action.

The pianist should create a tone poem that forms a frame, as it were, for the picture: and this involves a true test of his musicianship. To do this well, he should have at his finger tips a large and varied repertoire, and the ability to improvise, so as to unite several, or the fragments of many compositions into a pleasing and effective whole.

As a good accompanist merges his work with that of a soloist to a degree that the hearer is entirely oblivious of his work, so the good picture pianist makes the music so intregal [sic] a part of the picture that the two become one perfect, inseparable, and harmonious whole.

Of course there are scenes and situations requiring no particular kind of music, and yet even here, lack of judgment and taste can work to disadvantage.

After having read the synopsis of the picture in the "Moving Picture World", which is, of course, an essential guide in his work, and having gotten an idea of its general atmosphere, he can select from the particular group of compositions required,

[3]

those single numbers that his taste tells him are best suited. It is needless to say that often his second performance will be an improvement on the first, as some details, not forseen [sic], are sure to suggest more accurately fitting accompaniment.

It is the object of the classified lists and notes on the following pages to aid the player in the selection of suitable material, but he must use good judgment in fitting his selections, whole or in part, in modulating smoothly, and in playing through a picture without break or interruption.

Many songs are included, and these he will, of course, transcribe into piano solos, as they form one of the most valuable groups of his material.

The classification of the following numbers does not mean that they cannot be used for other situations, as, for example, numbers like the Grieg Nocturne, while pastoral in character, would be fine for a sad, or a love scene. The classification simply shows what they are originally written to picture. This is left to the judgment of the pianist.

Time and money spent in acquiring a good library of music is well spent, and this is a part of the preparation for those better positions that are sure to appear when the possibilities of the picture pianist's work are fully recognized, and when he will have developed with the demand created by the higher conception of this offices by the public.

In the better houses the ill-toned and often blatent [sic] mechanical instrument has given way to the grand piano and the ten thousand dollar pipe organ, played by an ambitious artist who is not satisfied to "get by" with a few stock tunes of questionable fitness.

The ambitious picture pianist is proud of his work, and glad of the opportunity never before so favorable, of bringing really good music to countless millions who are in a receptive mood and have no other opportunity of hearing music of lasting merit.

The following list, which includes many gems in piano literature, contains nothing which the author has not used often, and every class embraces the most suitable selections for its character and mood.

LYLE C. TRUE

Because it emphasizes categorization, the book appears almost entirely devoted to “what,” with the “how” covered mostly implicitly, through the act of choosing from the catalogue on the one hand and the presentation of a brief exemplar on the other.

This is a scan of the first two pages of the catalogue:



Here is True's example musical interpretation for Vitagraph's The Mystery of the Hidden House (1914).

The object of this book is to deal with the standard music and the serious pictures.

The following synopsis of the Vitagraph release, "The [Mystery of the] Hidden House" will serve as a model to the pianist showing what type of music to use for woodland or forest scenes, poetic fantasy, contrasts of sorrow and gladness, dancing and love scenes.

This two reel subject also demonstrates how much music is required (with no improvising) playing the music successively from beginning to end of the second reel.

There Is so much good music of this type, that the improvising of the average pianist would suffer in comparison.

[21]

"The Mystery of the Hidden House"
Synopsis

The music was played as follows:

Reel 1

Who is Sylvia. Song—Schubert
Moon Moths (entire suite; 3 numbers)—Kussner
Song of the Waternymph—Rhode
Festival in the Fields—Bachmann
The Lake of Como—Galos
What the Pond Lillies [sic] Whispered—Betts
Scarf Dance—Chaminade
Narcissus—Nevin

Reel 2

Dance of the Hours (from ''La Gioconda")—Ponchielli
Pas de Fleur (Nalla)—Delibes
Venezia (complete suite; 4 numbers)—Nevin
Strophe—Bartholdy
Pourquoi?—Latour
Serenade—Drigo

While tramping the hills of Virginia on his vacation, Dick Marston, a young minister, sprains his ankle. Moina Jardine, a demure little mountain maiden, assists him to her grandfather's home, "The Hidden House." Marston learns that Moina is subject to great stress of mind, at times. She tells him she and her sister, Robina, take turns caring for Mr. Jardine. Marston falls in love with the beautiful Moina. but Mr. Jardine and Mercy, the colored servant, say "Wait until you see Robina!" One day, Moina turns from Marston and begs her grandfather to explain the Mystery, but is angrily told to keep silent. That night Marston, walking in the grounds, meets Moina. She seems dazed, tells him that Robina comes! She disappears, leaving him greatly puzzled. The next morning Robina, beautiful and bewitching, comes dancing in.

Mr. Jardine and Mercy decorate the house and at night, before the blazing logs the colored servant tells witch stories. Marston, in his room, sees Robina dancing through the grounds in the moonlight. She pouts and goes straight up his room, laughing at his displeasure. Seeing a picture of Moina, she angrily tears it in pieces and rushes out. Marston is fascinated by Robina and one day, seizing her in his arms, he kisses her passionately. Suddenly her expression changes. She cries out that Moina is coming and falls unconscious. The girl is cared for by Jardine and Mercy, and when Marston next sees her, finds she is once more the sweet and gentle Moina. Appalled at the strange phenomena, he Is overcome with emotion. The grandfather explains that Moina is a dual personality, possessed in turn with the soul of Moina and that of Robina, which explains why Marston has never seen the two girls together, but he now knows that Moina and Robina are one and the same. Marston later meets Moina in the garden and tenderly takes her in his arms, telling her of his love. The mystery of the "Hidden House" is solved and Robina is only a memory of the past.

A scan of the whole book is available here [8 MB].

Carl Fischer's Motion Picture Music Guide

The large music publishing firms recognized the value of selling music to the picture theaters fairly early on, and they quickly developed music specially suited to playing the pictures. Publishers also recognized that cinemas were ideal places to monetize their back catalogues. It was toward this end that Carl Fischer "published for the convenience of the profession" its Motion Picture Music Guide, which was essentially the Fischer orchestra catalogue organized according to the needs of a cinema orchestra. Compiled by Julius S. Seredy, Charles J. Roberts and M. Lester Lake, 1922 version ran about 30 pages of double-columned entries. Here is the opening of the collection:


You can see that each entry carries a classification, title, composer, catalogue number and price category.

The later better known 1929 version is far more extensive, running 244 pages albeit with a single column:

The new arrangement adds key, meter, tempo and duration to each line and this has clearly been laid out as much to be useful as to sell music.

Besides the entries, the 1922 version had also sprinkled a fair amount of advise throughout the catalogue. (The 1929 version, by contrast, has little text other than the preface.) Here is the text that introduces the 1922 version:

SIX REASONS

WHY

The MOTION PICTURE MUSIC GUIDE

Is Indispensable

* * *

It shows how many different themes each number contains.

* * *

It classifies each theme, according to the mood it portrays.

* * *

It lists themes which can be used to express different moods, in their proper classification.

* * *

It helps you to derive the utmost value from your library, by showing you all the material in each number suitable for motion picture use.

* * *

It points out—on the piano part—the pages and measures, where each theme starts and ends.

* * *

It places at your disposal the largest collection of modern, classical, standard and popular orchestra music in the world.

* * *

Note: Piano parts of all numbers listed here are fully cued and may be used for piano solo or organ.

The following plug for Fischer-sponsored publications preceded the catalogue itself:

Why Every Motian Picture Leader
and
Musician Should Read the Musical Magazines.

Nearly every professional man of any prominence subscribes for and reads a few good magazines devoted to his profession. Where would the doctor be without his medical journals or the lawyer without his law papers. The journals are the professional man's stock in trade and are equally important to the musician in the motion picture theatre. They help him keep in touch with the latest developments, to get new ideas, and to broaden his outlook.

There are three magazines which will prove of most help and interest to the musician playing for the films. They are “The Metronome” and “The Dominant,” both band and orchestra monthlies; and “The Musical Observer,” devoted to the interests of all music-lovers. Everyone who plays a band, orchestral or other instrument in a picture theatre, should read one or both of the first two magazines. They are the tools of the trade. Not only do they keep you informed on all the latest popular and standard successes but they bring you in touch with the important musical events in the movie field—events which are making history and which you should not miss if you would keep up-to-date. Music in the movies and for the movies is a leading topic in these journals. Each issue contains interesting articles written by expert writers upon music as the foremost and indispensable accessory to film presentation and the progress of music in this field. Many news items inform you of the music offered in all the leading picture theatres. There are personal notes about the musical directors and their orchestras. In addition, both magazines contain two complete orchestra or band selections in every issue.

"The Musical Observer" covers the entire musical field and is of value and interest to anyone identified with music. It will help you to keep out of a rut and will prove an inspiration and an ambition builder by bringing you in contact with prominent musical people and musical activities the world over.

If you are looking ahead, it will pay you to get acquainted with these magazines. If you can read and think for yourself you will profit by subscribing for those that meet your needs best. You could make no mistake in taking all of them. But you owe it to yourself to read one of them, at least. (p. 6)

Conditions in Germany

From London, where he posted three articles, W. Stephen Bush traveled to Berlin, where he was not much impressed with the governmental regulation, censorship or tax situation. He also found the German film producers to be on the whole very provincial. On the other hand, he had high praise for the exhibition, especially the musical practice.

Conditions in Germany

The Horrors of Government Supervision of Picture Theaters Described—American Pictures Favored.

Berlin, May 4, 1913

No just estimate of the conditions in the German film industry is possible without taking into account the attitude of the German government toward the maker and exhibitor of motion pictures. The great amusement trust in Germany is the government. Practically two-thirds of all the theaters, and actually all the theaters in the big cities, are managed by financial agents of the government. Within recent years just about the time motion pictures began to be popular in our own country, there was a sharp advance in theatrical prices. From popular prices, averaging about 60 cents, the scale was raised to an average well exceeding a dollar. A good seat in any of the first-class theaters of Berlin is not to be had to-day for less than two dollars and fifty cents and there are plenty for three dollars and more.

At this moment appeared the motion picture. The thrifty Germans gave it an enthusiastic welcome. The exhibitors were wise enough not to go too far below theatrical prices, but just far enough to become formidable competitors. Prices ranged from 25 cents to one dollar, with a few seats at a dollar and a half. At once a very desirable patronage was transferred from the high-priced theater to the moving picture house. Small theaters started up all over the city, but the government treated them with contempt.

It was not long, however, before one after another of the old legitimate theaters changed from the drama to the moving pictures. Presently new theaters were built rivaling in comfort and luxury the best of the legitimate houses and showing “straight” pictures to crowded houses. Now the government took the alarm. It was estimated that one big theater had taken in over $120,000 in one year. Perhaps the estimate was too high; but, at an rate, it was large enough to excite both the envy and greed of the government. The latter had two ways of coping with the situation—its weapons were censorship and taxation. We need not be any too proud of the position which the showman occupies in the eyes of our own law, but he is a pampered individual indeed when compared with the German showman. The government issues its edict and fixes a rate of taxation strictly to suit itself and with no thought of the probable fate of the exhibitor. I questioned a number of exhibitors and moving picture experts here and they agree that the government takes about twenty per cent. of the gross receipts of the exhibitor. The taxation begins with every ticket which is sold at 10 cents and the ratio increases rapidly as the tickets increase in value. I do not think there are half a dozen moving picture theaters here charging as low as five cents, but many have now gone to 9 cents just to avoid the tax.

Even the tax, however unjust and arbitrary as it seems to be, has failed utterly to hurt the popularity of the pictures. The government therefore used the bludgeon of censorship. The principles and methods of German censorship baffle description. They violate every rule of fair play and ignore the plainest mandates of equity. Prussia is a semi-despotic country; there is supposed to be a representative government, but it never goes any further than the police allow. From infancy the Prussian is taught that the serious business of life is to drill and be drilled. Implicit and unreasoning obedience to whatever the paternal government is pleased to ordain is second nature with the average subject of the Kaiser.

I asked an editor here: “If the police censor the pictures who censors the police?” and he could not understand. The “divine right” business is paying big dividends in Germany.

Censorship is not only severe, but hopelessly stupid. The producer takes his film to a police official who orders a couple of hundred feet cut out. No reasoning is possible. The producer who would contumaciously argue the point with the police official might be arrested and dragged off to jail for insulting a representative of the government. I understand that an appeal is technically possible, but it is attended with so much red tape and so great an expense that the remedy is about as bad as the disease. There is no system in this censorship. The whims and the temperament of an individual decide.

One of the most notorious enemies of the motion picture is a man known as Professor Brunner. He calls the motion picture a “national peril” and arranges public meetings in which the motion picture, the producer and the exhibitor are denounced as public enemies. This is the very man who has been asked by the police to assist in censoring the pictures. He does not want to compromise with the pictures; he wants to destroy them.

To mention just one example of the depths of stupidity of German censorship. The Gaumonts have released a series of “comics” showing the adventures of a little boy. The government censored these pictures and suppressed several of them because “they seemed to encourage rebellion against parental authority.” Pictures showing the most sordid and revolting conditions of the underworld and others chiefly dealing with the seduction of poor working girls by dreadful employers are passed without question.

It is a little short of marvelous that, despite all these handicaps, the picture thrives here better even than England. The chain of first-class moving pictures with large capacity and every possible improvement and convenience is constant food for wonder. The Cines Company and “Al” Woods, the American theatrical manager, own most of these theaters and are making them pay. All this is due to the American-made picture, without which no program is deemed complete. Almost all American manufacturers are represented in Berlin and if comparatively few of their products are advertised in the trade journals the cause must be sought in a well established market which takes care of itself.

American pictures suffer comparatively little from the censor. For the audiences here the screened description of American life, American customs and manners, American men, women and children seem to be specially attractive. While we often discriminate against foreign pictures, the foreigners seem to be prejudiced in favor of our pictures. American comedies are in great demand.

This demand for American pictures has set the German manufacturers thinking. They are looking for the secret of our success. They realize that their product must, in quality and from a moral point of view, seek to approach American standards. Some have hired directors with American experience and others are looking for American directors and willing to pay the price. At present not one of them has a studio of his own. Studios are hired by the day or week and the expense is often shared by a combination of two or three producers. Only one or two of the manufacturers have permanent staffs of actors. As a rule, their product is good in photography; some of their artists are capable, but the differences in taste and the demands of German audiences make very many of the German pictures ineligible for the American market. The German audience revels in detail. A death scene is reckoned a great sentimental luxury, which may be prolonged ad libitum. All “weepy stuff” is relished and must not be cut. Action is not deemed as important as sentiment. The German is cosmopolitan enough to find a source of wonder and delight in the foreign, especially the American picture, but he does like the native product best when it seems “to the manner born.” It must also be remembered that in spite of the effective educational system which prevails in all Germany the people outside of the cities are like most people in Europe—well contented to move in old conventional grooves. They have simple tastes and very little pleases them. They are the very opposite of critical. With these audiences almost any picture will make a hit. This accounts for an awful lot of trashy things, wretched photography and simply impossible in all other respects.

There are two things which are done much better here than on our side. I refer to music and to methods of presentation generally. Berlin has motion picture theaters in the finest parts of the city, which are wonders of artistic architecture and scientific management. When you enter one of these theaters, like Mozart Hall or the Cines Palace or the Kammer Spiele, you feel at once that you are a guest and the object of pleasing attention. The corps of ushers is well distributed and well trained. The visitor gets the idea that he is receiving individual attention. He is guided to a spacious and comfortable chair or a box; he gets a program for 2 cents and the usher either marks his program or tells him what picture is on the screen and how far it has run. If he wishes any kind of refreshment special waiters bring it at once and the price is very reasonable. There is a receptacle for glass or cup convenient to every seat. Your hat and coat are taken care of for a nominal sum. There are no swift or sudden changes from darkness to light or vice versa. The lights come on gradually and go out gradually. No noise from the operator’s booth ever gets to the ears of the audience. All seats are reserved and numbered, the higher the price of admission the further away from the curtain. The attendants are courteous to a fault. The interior of Mozart Hall reminds one of an opera house (not “opr’y house”), in its comfort and luxury.

The crowning achievement of the German theater, how- [900] ever is the music. Orchestras of fifteen and twenty pieces are not uncommon. The musicians are artists led by capable and experienced directors. The slightest detail is looked after. Every important psychological moment in the drama is effectively elaborated by the music and when a climax comes music aids motion in a most acceptable manner. I admired their music for comedies; it always fitted like a glove. No subject puzzles the musical director. I should imagine that music for a subject like the Ohio flood was not easy to select, but the accompaniment in the Cines Palace was strikingly adapted to the scenes on the screen. Awkward pauses are unknown. Nor are the show places the only ones exhibiting this fine regard for musical possibilities. The thing is typical of all moving picture theaters—large and small. Of course, the weekly change of program favors a proper selection and rendition of music, but I found that the music was just as good the first day of the program. I am firmly persuaded that the musical feature of the entertainment goes a long way toward reconciling the public to the big prices.

I cannot say much for the projection, which is on the whole little better than ordinary. All European pictures seem to be printed on poor stock and often reminded me of those terrible non-inflammable films which we saw in the latter part of 1909. Few films I saw were in perfect condition. The only exceptions ere some of the feature films.

The film market in Germany is in a most bewildering condition—confusion worse confounded. Pathe and Gaumont are dealing with exhibitors directly, releases are by no means regular and then there is the exclusive film, generally a feature of three, four and five reels sold on the State rights or world’s rights plan. I was told that “Quo Vadis” was rented at 10,000 marks ($2,500), for two weeks; another sensational film fetched a rental of 17,000 marks (over $4,000), in Leipzig, for a period of one month. There are a number of independent directors who form temporary alliances with distinguished artists of the big legitimate theaters and sell negatives to certain syndicates. This, to, helps to bedevil the market.

The exhibitors are well organized in Berlin and other large cities of the empire, but the national union is not strong and has but little influence. They are, as far as I have been able to observe, an intelligent body of men, with a proper realization of their responsibilities. They are greatly alarmed just now at the threatened action of the government, which in addition to levying an exorbitant tax, intends in October to take up the question of exacting a special yearly license. If this plan is carried out many places will have to close. The government will treat the theaters like we treated the saloons under the old high license system. If no proof of their necessity is forthcoming no license will be issued and of the necessity the government will be the sole judge.

In spite of all present troubles and allowing for further displays of hostility on the part of the government, I predict a great progress in Germany. There are only about 3,000 houses in the empire now, but I would not be surprised to see this number trebled in a year or so. There is no reason why this market cannot yield as fine returns to the American producer as the British market. Nothing more is needed than ordinary American energy and a proper understanding of the conditions.

For the benefit of other American moving picture men who may hereafter be tempted to visit here, I venture to set down a few observations which will, I trust, help them to understand some of the native customs. I must take special notice of the German elevator. In its normal state the German elevator dwells in sacred seclusion. It is strongly and safely locked up and the possession of the key to the elevator is the last and crowning emblem of janitorial dignity. When uncouth foreigners like myself wish to use the elevator—natives refrain from it out of regard for its sacred character—notice is given to the janitor, who in the exercise of a sound discretion may or may not admit the applicant. In any event, the news that the elevator is about to be used travels rapidly through the neighborhood and soon crowds of small boys and girls assemble and witness the unlocking and ascending of the elevator. The elevator ascends with imposing dignity and often attains a speed of a floor a minute. When you get out, the elevator immediately descends and is again locked up. If you fancy that upon topping the bell the elevator will re-ascend and brig you back to the ground floor you have a great lesson to learn. In the first place there is no bell. In the second place the elevator is not to be lightly molested. It has taken you up—please expect no more, walk down. What a sublime example of patience our German friends are setting us here. In the mad rush of elevators “up and down” we often are betrayed into violent comments on the slowness of the elevator service and are prone to speak rudely to the elevator man or the starter. We thus frequently compromise our dignity. Our German cousins would much rather walk down than imperil their philosophical calm.

I would also warn you away from what the Berliners call their circular system of suburban transit. It is fair, but false. Apparently it casts three and a half cents to ride in any direction of a distance of four stations. In the cheaper cars it is only 2 ½ cents. Naturally you feel elated. At this rate you can ride continuously for a year and never touch your savings bank. You ride, say a distance from Grand Street to 14th and blithely walk off, giving the ticket taker your ticket and a look of a hauteur. He sternly orders you to halt and explains that you have gone one station beyond the limit of your ticket. Thinks begin to look black. Passengers gather and view you with ill-concealed suspicion. Nobody has a kind word for you. You really begin to lose sympathy for yourself, when another uniformed railway employe leads you to a ticket office where you have to pay an additional 7 ½ cents. You mentally retract all you ever said about the Interborough and thereafter trust yourself to taxis, which are quite cheap. Marvels of cheapness are the electric stages. For two cents you can ride indefinitely. I agave a conductor three cents, for which I was rewarded with about a dozen rapid military salutes. I then tried him with four cents and he ignored every other passenger on the car for the rest of the journey. No doubt I could have bought the car for a dollar, but the cost of transportation might have killed my profit. The conductor gazed after me with wondering eyes and a last salute. I am only a poor film man, but I am always willing to do my share in sustaining our reputation as a nation of reckless spenders.

Source: W. Stephen Bush, “Conditions in Germany,” Moving Picture World 31 May 1913, 899-900.

Piano, Improvisation, and the Orchestra

Sinn bases this column on a letter from a correspondent. He takes issue with the writer's contention that piano and drums is a preferable combination to the orchestra for picture work. In typical fashion, Sinn suggests that each combination has its particular advantages and disadvantages, and it is up to the manager (and musicians) to figure out what works best for the house in question (given the resources, audience, etc.).

Sinn ends the column with a list of musical suggestions for "The Lad from Ireland" (Kalem). This sort of cue sheet will become a recurring feature in the music columns over the years; indeed, many weeks the music column will consist of nothing but lists of such musical suggestions.

Manager Ernest Buchwald, Ballinger, Tex., writes : "Dear Sir—Your article, Music for the Pictures, in the Moving Picture World is very interesting and of great value to piano players as well as to managers and I wish to congratulate you on same and hope you will keep up the good work. For the past seven years I have made a special study of playing for moving pictures, and my experience is this: it is nearly impossible to use an orchestra for moving pictures, as I experimented in my own house, and the nearest and best results was with piano and traps. . . . Whenever it comes to the point where managers realize the value and necessity of good music, it will mean more money to all parties interested—musicians, managers and manufacturers. I have more than tripled the receipts of a moving picture theater with big opposition, one house playing vaudeville for the same price of admission, the other being an airdome with the best location in the town. How was it done? Just simply showing good pictures and playing the proper music for them."

Thanks, Brother Buchwald, for your kindly appreciation of my humble efforts. I have quoted your letter at some length because it backs up by actual experience what the World has always advocated, viz.: that good and appropriate music for the picture is of financial value to the house employing it. Why not? It means a better show, and, other things being equal, the best show gets the money. As to the relative value between the orchestra and piano, that is a matter of opinion. Yours is based on your own experience and you are certainly entitled to it; but my experience (in both lines) compels me to believe otherwise. I had intended taking up this matter of orchestra work in a later article, and shall probably do so anyway, but a few words now won't come amiss.

In the first place, there are more ways than one of fitting music to the picture. I presume you refer to "impromptu" playing, improvising—"making it up as you go along." It's a good method, too, providing you have a good pianist with a talent in that direction, but many of us are not so endowed. I have nothing but praise for the genius who can at sight improvise music to fit the picture, to an extent he (or she) is a composer, and I agree that it would be difficult (though not impossible) for an orchestra to work along these lines. Now, so far as I have observed, the impromptu pianist starts his picture with something non-commital—a waltz, possibly—and watches the picture until there is "something doing;" then he changes his music to suit the action—abruptly, if necessary. This is correct, of course. When the action changes, he changes with it; when the action subsides and the story runs quietly, the pianist drops back to his waltz or whatever it was, or plays something else of a similar neutral character, until the action again calls for a change. Correct again. That's all there is to the proper working up of a picture so far as the music goes. (The sound effects supply the balance.)

As an illustration, let us suppose his first change of music is to a pathetic number, and on the spur of the moment he improvises a beautiful theme. Well and good; I've often heard it done. But the best of impromptu players may repeat themselves occasionally. Why not? If the number is attractive and he happens to remember it, why shouldn't he apply it to a similar scene next week or next month? And if he shouldn't happen to feel in the humor to improvise a fitting number on the spur of the moment, but happened to think of a little theme that somebody else wrote, why not play it if appropriate? If a storm scene is shown he can improvise if he wants to, or he can play the storm from "William Tell," if he knows it. That is pretty good descriptive "storm music" and there are other numbers which will also answer the purpose—often better than you can improvise on the spur of the moment. Do you see what I am getting at? The best of improvisors may call occasionally on other works than their own, and the more credit to them for doing it. No good moving-picture pianist will despise a good library whether he carries it in his memory or keeps it on a convenient shelf. And if he doesn't improvise at all, he can depend altogether on such a library, and do good work, too. I have heard it done. The difference lies here: if he hasn't a sufficient story in his memory he must reinforce it from the shelf at the first opportunity—and that should be at the end of the first show. I know there are a few managers who insist on the piano being heard incessantly, through the intermission as well as through the pictures, but this is thoughtlessness on their part sometimes. Those who look on the music as a "ballyhoo" don't care to have their pictures worked up, anyway. Music in the intermission doesn't interest the average audience particularly, and some consideration should be given the tired fingers and brain, of the musician if he is to do good work. Pardon the digression. We will say that during the first show the pianist has decided on the most appropriate music in his stock for the subjects to hand—of course he must know his library, but a little practice cultivates a good memory—and selects the proper numbers during the intermission. He must keep it in such systematic order as to be able to find it readily. After that it is mostly a matter of turning over the leaves. I grant you he will not read difficult music at sight and keep both eyes on the pictures, but even with a passing knowledge of his music he can give sufficient attention to both and he don't need to repeat himself oftener than the average impromptu worker—and I say this with all due respect to the latter. Now you see what I am driving at.

There are more ways than one of fitting a picture musically and I have mentioned two. The latter is a practical way for an orchestra to work. Each has its advantages. Each has something which the other has not. The impromptu pianist progresses from one theme to another by means of modulating chords and connecting phrases, thus forming a pleasing continuity which is difficult for an orchestra to simulate, though again I assert this is not altogether impossible. On the other hand, the orchestra has the advantage of instrumental coloring which is so valuable in descriptive music and sound effects.

But after all, your final results depend entirely upon the musician. He must take a lively interest in the work (which is fascinating once you get an insight of it) and try, try, try. And this, as you know, applies to the piano player as well as the orchestra leader.

Another thing: Not all pictures call for a musical setting of constantly changing themes; this applies mostly to dramatic pictures, and often of these one or two long numbers will suffice through the entire picture, maybe broken with a melodramatic number or two. Here standard music is certainly as satisfactory as the most gifted improvisation, and the orchestra can interpret that as well as the pianist. Scenic pictures demand music suggesting the countries represented—plenty of that on the market. Many industrial as well as other pictures do not admit of special treatment and are usually filled by a concert number of some sort—all the way from a "rag" to an overture. A varied musical program helps the show when it does not detract from it, and I believe interesting musical numbers should be included where they do not hurt the picture. In this, again, a good orchestra is more satisfactory than a good pianist.

I append a suggestion for working up a recent release, "The Lad from Ireland" (Kalem). It includes all standard stuff which can be handled equally well by either orchestra or piano.

"Killarney" till he meets sweetheart, then—
"Believe Me if All Those Endearing Young Charms" till subtitle ("Out of my heart forever") then—
"Come Back to Erin" till arrives in America, then— "Girl I Left Behind Me" till election scene, then— Lively music, soft, increase to loud till change, then—
"Kathleen" till change, then—
Waltz till he shows letter, then—
"Come Back to Erin" till train is seen, then—
"Killarney" till interior of cottage (eviction scene), then—
"Believe Me if All, etc." till he enters cottage, then—
"The Harp that Once Through Tara's Hall" softly, swell at finish.
(Or can play "Believe Me if All, etc." until flag' staff ap¬pears, then "Wearing of the Green" for finish.)

At another time I want to go into this matter in more detail.

Source: Clarence E. Sinn, “Music for the Picture,” Moving Picture World 17 December, 1405.

Drums and Traps

Today we will take a break from the music columns. Instead, we have a reasonably long article by H. F. Hoffman on the role of drumming in the picture house. Though a drummer himself, Hoffman is somewhat ambivalent about how the art is being practiced in movie theaters. (This ambivalence would come out even more forcefully in the illustrations he drew to accompany Louis Reeves Harrison's "Jackass Music".)

Hoffman understands the role of drumming in general and sound effects in particular as serving the needs of the story. This has an important ramification: sound effects, he thinks, should be chosen to illustrate the main point of the story rather than on the basis of the fidelity to the image. This will become the classical paradigm that determines the practice even in sound film: clarity of the storytelling trumps fidelity to the scene depicted. In particular, Hoffman makes this statement:

It is almost funny to observe the diligence with which some prop-workers watch a horse when he comes into the picture. Every step is caught with a keenness that soon attracts the attention of the audience to the horse’s feet and way from the actors. The lover may be pleading with the Squire’s daughter to elope with him, during which the horse is grazing in the background, but nevertheless every step that horse takes must be faithfully recorded by the loud pop of a cocoanut shell, without regard whether the horse be walking on ground, gravel or granite.

Although the criticism ends with a charge of infidelity (the indifference to the surface on which the horse is walking), the main thrust of the Hoffman's remarks in this passage has to do with the way synchronizing the hoof sound draws attention to the horse, which is incidental to the story, and away from the discussion between the lovers, which should be central. In that respect, Hoffman is pointing out that, all things being equal, the appearance of synchronization has the effect of marking whatever is synchronized for foreground attention. This will prove to be an important principle for musical accompaniment as well.

"Drums and Traps"

I’m going to take a fall out of the man behind the drum to-day. Some weeks ago I took a fall out of the operators and they have never forgiven me. I do not despise the operator, because I have been one myself and know the ups and downs of it. Neither do I despise the trap drummer, because I am one myself. It was the drums that gave me my start in the amusement world, and it is to them, directly or indirectly, that I owe many fond memories and some knowledge of the world, both at home and beyond the seas. There is nothing I love better than to sit in a big band and go through a heavy overture, but I always seemed to be able to make more money doing something else.

The advent of the moving picture theater brought the services of tympanists into very sudden demand. The demand was greater than the supply, and consequently, to full up the gaps, many raw recruits were pressed into service. Most of them served their purpose by making a noise of some kind, and it is barely possible that among the lot there may be a certain percentage who will in time become first class performers. Therefore, in case this article is scanned by the old-time drummer, whatever I may have to say of an instructive nature is put down for the benefit of this new crop of tympanists and not to demonstrate any superior wisdom to the oldsters, although some of these, too, have their faults which may be mentioned therein.

There are two general classes of drumming; the regimental, or military, and the professional, or band and orchestra. For the purposes of this article we may as well dismiss the regimental in a few words. While it is the lower of the two classes of drumming, it is the best training school for future professionals that I know of, so far as technical skill is concerned. It does not make a musician of a man, but it teaches him how to handle his sticks. It teaches him the various beats and rolls, from the five to the eleven stroke, and other tricks that a man who considers himself a full-fledge should know, but at the same time a regimental course is not absolutely necessary. The close roll is the easiest to master and if you get that down fine you have your start for indoor work.

In drumming, as in every craft, there is a right and wrong way. It varies from the laborious thump to the skillful and sympathetic touch of the artist; the difference between the employment of mere muscle and brains. The drummer who executes well but does not know his notes is almost sure to be a thumper, or “athletic drummer,” as the wise ones say. The kind who imagines that the audience came to hear him and him only. His object is to drown the piano player and prove his worth by the amount of noise he can make and he always succeeds. Later, when he learns his notes, his noisy fault is apt to abide with him, and that is why we have so many irritating men behind the drums at moving picture houses. This is particularly true when he comes to playing the bells. On more than one occasion, in some of the biggest and best houses, I have listened to the most ear-splitting hammering on bells, ranking second in noise only to the circus calliope.

All this noise is unnecessary. The drummer must learn that he is only a subordinate item and should keep his proper place. The singer who yells his lungs out and the cornet player who blows his head off are much scarcer than the drummer who drowns out the pianist. The skillful man with the delicate touch can put life into a show that the other man would kill. The real drummer knows that a drum tap carries very far and he does not overdo it. If you watch him you will notice that his elbows never move; he can play for hours with nothing but the motion of his wrists, and his clean, even roll is like the patter of raindrops on a tin roof. He also knows the value of accent and is always playing with light and shade; short crescendos are his stock in trade and occasionally he gives his bass drum a moment’s rest instead of pounding straight through like a machine from start to finish.

When the finished player handles his bells he gets the sweetness out of them by his lightness of touch, and if he can keep the sound down to the tinkle of a music box the effect with the piano is very pretty. In like manner he handles his triangle, clogs, castanet, tambourine and all minor accessories, which are very musical if they are kept down below the battering point.

Sound effects come in for some of the most stupid handling of all, both by professionals and novices. The most abused of any is the horse-hoof imitation. It is almost funny to observe the diligence with which some prop-workers watch a horse when he comes into the picture. Every step is caught with a keenness that soon attracts the attention of the audience to the horse’s feet and way from the actors. The lover may be pleading with the Squire’s daughter to elope with him, during which the horse is grazing in the background, but nevertheless every step that horse takes must be faithfully recorded by the loud pop of a cocoanut shell, without regard whether the horse be walking on ground, gravel or granite.

[185] Without judgment in the use of sound effects they are worse than none at all. Where a sound will have a direct bearing and effect upon something that is happening in a picture, such as the ringing of a door bell, the shot of a gun, wind in a storm, etc., then by all means come in with it strong, but on the other hand, when you see a calf in the background of a pretty farm scene don’t detract from the acting by jangling a cow bell when it has no bearing on the picture. If your bass wants it, muffle it inside a box and you will get the right effect. The horse-hoof his all right for a run-away or exciting gallop, such as a fire apparatus in motion, but don’t overdo it. If you stop to think, a man walking on a pavement makes nearly as much noise as a horse and you do not think it necessary to imitate him at all.

I was lecturing once at a large theater that held a thousand people on the ground floor and it required some vocal effort on my part. Behind the screen they had a prop-worker who felt the importance of his position, very much to my discomfort. He never missed a horse’s step; every time a door closed he would rap on a box; the waiter’s tip always jingled on the table; the chickens out-cackled me; the cows “mooed” me into silence, and I was lost in the ocean’s roar. I said nothing to him because he was peevish and very jealous of his play-things. One evening we had the interior scene of a peasant’s cottage, and a painful parting between two lovers was taking place. All at once a bird began to sing with great violence. I looked at the piano player in wonderment and found him looking the same at me. “What’s that for,” he asked. “You’ve got me,” I replied, “I’ll go and see.” I found my friend with his cheeks and his eyes bulging out, blowing for his very life. “What’s the trouble?” says I. “The bird! The bird!” says he, without removing the whistle. “Where?” says I. “There!” says he, pointing triumphantly with a stick to a diminutive canary in a tiny wooden cage on a top shelf at the far corner of the room. “Good boy!” I cried, giving him a wallop on the back that made him almost swallow his blooming whistle.

If you err in sound effects it is better to err on the side of silence. Do not pay so much attention to trivial things just because they happen to be in the picture. Get in with the sound that ought to be there and play good drums for the rest. Furthermore, I notice that while many drummers imitate objects and animals very commendably, they seldom think of imitating a man. Whether they are afraid of the sound of their own voices or not, I cannot say, but there are many cases where a shout, a laugh, a command or a sneeze could be put in with the voice that are not taken advantage of at all.

In every craft the workman should have the best of tools and take the best care of them, but it seems to be the fate of drums, especially bass drums, to be at upon, rained upon, worked upon, generally abused and left to shift for themselves. Some of the drums I have been listening to at picture houses could be replaced by butter tubs and the audience would never know the difference. You may have noticed that musicians on all other instruments take special care of them and are ofttimes inclined to brag a little about the rarity of their particular one, which means that they have tried a good many before they were entirely satisfied that they had selected the best one that could be had. This is particularly true of violinist who guard their violins with jealous care and seldom trust them to other hands than their own for any reason whatever. Drummers are not usually so particular in this respect but the fact remains nonetheless, that the best results cannot be obtained with poor drums. It is not so much a matter of cost as in the constant trying out of different ones until the rare one is found. There is not one drum in twenty that is worth owning.

Bass drums in particular almost always escape proper selection, being often ordered by mail to be of a certain height and depth in inches, instead of being personally tested for the deep toned vibration which carries that resonant musical boom to the farthest corners of the auditorium, no matter how lightly tapped. Needless to say, that the bigger the bass drum the better.

There is a wide different of opinion as to the relative merits of single and double headed drums, among professionals, but in the last analysis I believe that it all depends upon the many who uses them. The two headed drum has a softer and more musical quality and is much the easier to play upon. The single headed drum is harsh and you have to change your style to get anything out of them. There is very little bounce to them and therefore to get a rebound it is necessary to strike hard, and in striking hard to much noise is made, so it really require muscular control and more skill to get music out of them than from the two headed kind, but they are fairly satisfactory when one gets used to them. The single headed bass drum is an atrocious failure. In the single headed tenor drum the vibration is small, but in the bass drum it is practically nil. One may as well have a barrel hoop with a skin stretched across, for al the sound you will get from either will be a dull, sickening thud.

By his cymbal you will know the drummer. After going the rounds and hearing the miserable chinkety-chink of the $1.50 brass cymbal it is a pleasure to come across a man who uses the real Turkish. The Turkish cymbal quivers and shivers for a full minute after being struck. It sings like a human voice and its song carries with a musical sweetness to the farthest corner. One of these coupled to a deep, full toned bass drum means a quality of tone that cannot be surpassed. One 12-inch Turkish cymbal will cost you in the neighborhood of $10, but you have my word for it that once you buy one you will cast away your brass or German silver, and love the song of the Turkish.

Pedals. There are many varieties, the principal fault of the majority being lost action. Nearly all of the knuckle joint pedals have this fault. One of the most reliable pedals is the old-time top rigging. There is no lost action to it and it answers the lightest touch of the toe with the most delicate response. On account of its bulk it is not used as much as formerly, but many old-timers still cling to it. A drummer must know his pedal as a mother does her child. There are no two in the world alike and it is difficult to get used to another man’s apparatus. The principal sin in the use of the pedal is that of smothering the drum and cymbal. As with the piano key, the reaction should be instantaneous so as to give them a chance to vibrate. The moment your beater strikes the drum and cymbal get it out of the way and let them sing, otherwise you get the same old chink-chink-chink that is the sure sign of a careless drummer.

Source: H. F. Hoffman, “Drums and Traps,” Moving Picture World 23 July 1910, 184-85.

Problems with Illustrated Songs

In this week's column, Martin takes issue with the illustrated song, which he says is too often smutty. It's a bit odd that he should go after the illustrated song in quite so forceful a manner given that illustrated song manufacturers had been faithful advertisers in the paper since at least the beginning of the 1909. (The illustration to the right comes from Film Index 9 January 1909, 12.) Film Index also had as one of its regular features a list of recent slide sets released by various slide companies. In general, Martin appears much less aware of the wider industry needs than does Sinn, who is writing for Moving Picture World.

Toward the end of his column this week, Martin also mentions that pianos in theaters need to be worked on (and tuned) at least once every six weeks. He also recommends not placing a piano in a pit but, if at all possible, to put it on a stage, as this will allow the music to sound best.

You may say it is none of my business, when I dwell on the illustrated song question, but, as I told you before, when the audience leaves your theatre, having heard some of the trash that is printed in music form and offered by some of the best-known publishers, they say, “The pictures were fine, but the music was disgusting.” This throws as much blame on the piano player as it does the singer, and no matter what efforts the piano player has made to “play the pictures,” the music has been condemned.

I can safely say, that the song question in the motion picture theatres has had a great deal to do with the trouble that has been raised by the censorship boards in the different cities. I believe the songs that have been used in the picture houses have given the police and authorities more room for the action they have taken in their crusade against the picture business, than any picture that has ever been thrown on a screen. It is very gratifying indeed, to know that Chief of Police LeRoy T. Steward, of Chicago, has outlawed a number of these questionable songs, and I believe this has been brought about by the untiring efforts of C. P. McDonald, the Music Editor of The Show World. A censorship board has also been appointed by the city council of Springfield, Ill., for the purpose of barring from that city such suggestive songs.

Some of the songs that have been condemned by the Chicago Chief of Police are, “When I Get That Loving Feeling,” “Oh, You Devil Rag,” “Do Your Duty, Doctor,” “The Dance of the Grizzly Bear,” “Casey Jones” and “Her Name was Mary Wood, but Mary Wouldn’t.” The daily papers of Chicago have taken up the fight with the Chief of Police and I believe the time is near when the authorities of the different cities will see their mistake in condemning the motion picture theatre; they will find it is the songs and not the pictures that need to be censored. It seems that the police authorities have hit the nail on the head when they have started at the bottom of the evil, the publisher, and the first complaints were filed last Wednesday in the Municipal Court of Chicago against H. S. Talbot, a publisher, at 184 Dearborn street, charging him with distributing a song that has failed to come up to the standard of decency established by the police department under the city ordinances. It is the aim of Sergt. O’Donnell, of Chicago, to make the rounds of the cheap theatres and listen to the songs, and any he finds beyond the limits of decency, he will arrest the singer. I believe C. P. O’Donnell, of The Show World staff, should have the glad hand out for anyone that will make a crusade against the late popular songs that the writers have to resort to smut to make them popular.

Have you ever noticed, when one of these “smut” songs are used in a picture house, they always get a hand? And have you noticed the hand comes from the “rough necks?” If you are catering to the low element of your city I can think of no better drawing card than such songs as “I Love It,” “Company in the Parlor,” “‘Tis Hard to be a Lady in a Case Like That” or “That Lovin’ Melody Rubenstein Wrote.”

Has the time come that the publishers have to resort to such low, degrading stuff, in order to stay in business? It is a cinch the better class of people, the ones you are catering to, are not demanding this kind of “music.”

There is no way possible for the general public to get a wrong conception of the publisher’s meaning in these titles and words. The publishers are making every effort to make it clear that they mean just what they say, for some of their advertising matter is lower (if possible) than the songs. For instance, in some of the advertising matter for the late song “I Love It,” published by the Harry Von Tilzer Publishing Company, of New York, they say, “It is a little word, but can mean many big things.” Now wouldn’t this advertising look good on a three-sheet in front of your picture house? so the children could figure “it” out?

No, don’t put me down as a crank, I write this because I know what is good for the picture industry, and what is not. If you are obliged to put on this trash in your picture house, if you cannot find decent music, don’t cater to a family business, change your location, move to the slums and you will soon have a fat bank account.

Have you ever noticed, when the illustrated song comes on, the people either leave the theatre or start up a conversation with those around them? and then as soon as the pictures start the house is quiet again. I think this would be enough to prove to the exhibitors that the majority of the people come for the pictures and not the songs.

On the other hand, if you can get a god singer, one that can handle good ballads and classic music you will find your audience will greatly appreciate the music, and it provides a good relief for your program. I believe the songs in the picture theatre would have a better standing to-day if the managers and singers would have used better judgment in their selections.

If this keeps up, the illustrated song will be greatly injured and only spot light songs will be used. The fault is the carelessness of the slide rental agencies. They put me in mind of the fly-by-night film exchanges. I mean those that have not bought a reel of film for a year and are working on their original investment. The average slide renter is working on the same plan, when their customer has used their entire stock they give him repeaters until he gets next to himself and tries another. I recently saw a shipment of three sets of song slides from a house making a specialty of th rental business, with twenty-one slides, out of forty, cracked, and two of the chorus slides missing. Good combination is it not? first run film service and five year slide service.

Well, to get back to “Playing the Pictures” there is another great point that is sadly neglected, and that is, the care of the piano. I have found in visiting different picture houses, that nine out of every ten pianos are in need of tuning. I will say that the wear and rough use that some of them get, it would be well for the manager to have a piano tuner on his salary list with the average use a piano gets in a picture theatre, it should be gone over at least every six weeks but an expert, not a “dub.”

A great mistake that is made by many exhibitors is, placing the piano in a pit. When you place a piano in a pit, it deadens the tone, and no matter how hard the piano player works, his music seems to have a dull finish. It is much better, if possible, to elevate the piano, so that the tones carry over the entire house and it makes the work much lighter for the musician. If you have room to place the piano on the stage next to the picture screen, you will find it will give great results. Another inexpensive improvement is to remove the rollers from the piano and place a heavy glass insulator under each corner, by raising the instrument from the floor it will add greatly to the tone quality.

In next week’s article I will offer some suggestions of appropriate music for some of the notable releases of the last two weeks, such as “Sunshine Sue,” Biograph, “Woman of Samaria,” Pathe, and “Fransesca Da Rimini,” Vitagraph.

Source: Clyde Martin, “Playing the Pictures,” Film Index 3 December 1910, 9.