An Index to The Tuneful Yankee and Melody Magazine

I am pleased to announce that my book An Index to The Tuneful Yankee and Melody Magazine is now available at Humanities Commons at https://hcommons-staging.org/deposits/item/hc:38443/.

From the Introduction:

An Index to The Tuneful Yankee and Melody Magazine (1917-1930)

In 1917, the Boston-based Walter Jacobs Company, a sheet music publisher, began publishing a monthly periodical called The Tuneful Yankee. “Devoted to the interests of popular music,” as its subtitle declared, the journal included articles about new popular genres, especially ragtime and jazz; information about newly popular instruments, like the saxophone and banjo; and reviews of new popular music and music for the cinema. Each issue also contained several pieces of sheet music in each issue, mostly for piano, but there were also several pieces for voice and piano and for banjo. In January 1918, Jacobs acquired The Ragtime Review, published by Axel S. Christensen, and combined it with The Tuneful Yankee, renaming the magazine Melody: a Monthly Magazine for Lovers of Popular Music; Christensen remained a regular contributor. Melody’s contents remained focused on ragtime and jazz, but it also began including more articles for cinema accompanists. In January of 1925 Jacobs changed the subtitle to reflect this market, and the journal became Melody: for the Photoplay Musician and the Musical Home. The length of each issue grew with the addition of new regular columns and features, and during the1920s catered primarily to cinema and dance band musicians. The arrival of widespread sound film forced the magazine to shift its focus one again: in January 1928, the subtitle changed yet again, this time to indicate that Melody was not just for professional “Photoplay Organists and Pianists” but for “all Music Lovers,” suggesting that the widespread acceptance and availability of sound films meant that the magazine was trying to shift its focus away from music and material for professional cinema musicians and towards music educators, music students, and amateur musicians. Jacobs discontinued Melody after the July 1930 issue following the departures of its primary editors from the company.

Melody is an important resource and site of documentation for popular music, which underwent significant changes during the 1910s and 1920s. Its focus on cinema music makes it a crucial source for tracing the development of music for the early American cinema and its creators and performers, and its inclusion of articles by and about women musicians means that it provides information on the roles of women in popular music in the first part of the twentieth century. It is also, however, a publication that is undeniably racist. Despite being a promoter of popular genres developed by Black musicians, Melody’s contributors were nearly all white, and from privileged backgrounds. None of its writers interviewed Black composers or performers—there is a single article on Black comedian Bert Williams—and the magazine published numerous racist pieces such as “The Darkey’s Dream,” several variations on “Dixie,” “Eskimo Shivers,” “Girl of the Orient,” and “Mohikana: Indian Suite.” The publication notably omits any materials about Black school and college bands; Black cinemas or those owned by other people of color; and Black dance bands. It’s clear that the writers and composers who created content for the publication, the editors who approved, and the Walter Jacobs Company all operated from a position of white supremacy, and that this is a harmful and problematic legacy of the magazine.

While Melody was intended to be a house organ for the Walter Jacobs Company, promoting its own sheet music, the content of the magazine went beyond marketing. Editors George L. Cobb, a composer, and C. V. Buttelman, a banjoist, sought out prominent figures to write articles and pieces of music, and while the names of these contributors might not be familiar today, they were among the best-known of the period in popular music. Cobb and Buttleman hired dozens of band leaders, cinema musicians, composers, and performers to fill the pages of Melody with information about recent performances, new recordings, and instrumental techniques. Contributors included composers R. E. Hildreth, Avelyn Kerr, Norman Leigh, and Harry Norton; film composer and accompanist Lloyd G. del Castillo; ragtime pianist Edward R. Winn, who offered lessons in his series “‘Ragging’ the Popular Song Hits;” organists Irene Juno and George Allaire Fisher; film accompaniment textbook author Maude Stolley McGill, who previewed her book for readers through a series of ten lessons for playing for the moving picture; music education specialist A. C. E. Schonemann; trumpeter and trumpet designer and maker Vincent Bach; banjoist and composer A. J. Weidt; and conductor Clarence Byrn. Cobb himself contributed numerous pieces of music as well as columns. These hired writers and letter-writers provided reports from across the United States as to what music was being played in cinemas and dance halls in their cities and how it was received; biographies and interviews that gave readers detailed information about how performers had found their niches and built their careers in popular music; and reports on music in schools documented contemporary music education. Editorials took on issues of plagiarism and copyright, taste and innovation, and the role of music in society. Readers could find advice on everything from learning basic composition to negotiating publishing and performance contracts. Insider gossip and humor columns gave readers a detailed look at the popular music business and its major players. The magazine’s content also contains articles, music, and advertisements designed to speak to aspiring professionals and amateur musicians, including reviews of entry-level instruments, lessons, and coverage of amateur ensembles.

Melody regularly published material written about and by women in the industry, making it an important resource for researching women’s work in cinema accompaniment, as composers of popular songs, and as the leaders of bands and orchestras. Although women made up the majority of cinema accompanists during the silent era, many of their lives and contributions remain unexcavated. Articles on women cinema musicians and all-women ensembles by Irene Juno, Avelyn Kerr, Agnes Brink, Alice Smythe Jay, and other women provide critical entry points for studying the careers of these influential musicians. Indeed, Melody is a particularly important source for tracing the development of music for the early American cinema and its creators and performers. Throughout its run, Melody paid close attention to the business and art of the cinema musician, whose job it was to accompany features, cartoons, and newsreels in the motion picture theaters. Nearly every issue had at least one article devoted to silent film music, and the magazine’s reviews of new popular music also included photoplay music. Regular columns on the activities of musicians in several large North American cities, including New York, Toronto, Denver, and Washington, D.C., provide a list of cinema musicians and their places of employment. It published several series of pieces composed specifically to be used in the cinema, including two dozen works that were later collected into one of Jacobs’s photoplay albums.

The advertisements in Melody are just as valuable as the articles and sheet music. Scholars can trace the ways in which instruments were marketed; what repertoire was sold and in what formats and for what ensemble configurations; how songs were advertised and to what market targets; what kinds of training was offered (become a piano tuner, teacher, engraver, or a piano and automated instrument salesperson!); and what items readers might need or want (music stands, chord charts for improvising cinema and dance hall musicians, electric blowers for organs).

While it was a successful magazine it its time, Melody today exists as a full print run only at the Library of Congress, where it can be viewed in its microfilm format (Microfilm 86/20,101 Reels 1-7); a handful of other libraries have partial volumes of the publication. Based on my research in the music libraries of several silent film musicians, it is clear that the music was often removed from each issue and stored separately from the rest of the magazine; this may have contributed to the lack of complete paper copies extant today.

I am grateful for the support of the Music Library Association’s Dena Epstein Award, which allowed me to undertake research for this project at the Library of Congress and to obtain copies of the microfilms of The Tuneful Yankee and Melody. Thanks also to James Cassaro, James Zychowicz, and the Texas Music Library Association.

Reviews: horror, non-fiction, and a novel in verse

Paradise by Lizzie Johnson. 5/5
This is a compelling and very clear account of the Camp Fire that destroyed most of Paradise, California. Johnson has done enormous amounts of research to get the human details of this story right, and it is a testament to journalistic non-fiction writing. I recommend this highly for anyone interested in the fire, how wildfires in the American West are managed and fought, and the individual stories of those affected by the fire.

A Passage North by Anuk Arudpragasam. 1/5
I read and read and read this and felt like I was swimming against a current of words and meaningless disconnection and and minute detail. I realize that perhaps all types of writing aren’t for me, and this is an example. I am certain other readers will love it, but my primary emotion was being relieved I was done with it.

An Unlikely Spy by Rebecca Starford. 3/5
A short but intense novel about a young woman recruited because of her language skills to work for MI5 during WWII. A nice study of the period, its politics, and how knowing what the right thing to do is very fraught. A solid read.

The Real Valkyrie by Nancy Marie Brown. 5/5
Starting with the confirmation that a warrior buried with full warrior signifiers at Birka was a woman, Brown constructs a possible life for her based on her grave goods, historical information data, and written accounts of the period. I loved the detail and information about the world this woman lived in, and how she might have lived. Brown does an excellent job–as usual–in bringing the Viking world and its trading partners to live. My only reservation is about the lack of discussion of transgender identities during the period–Brown discusses how pronouns and signifiers like “King” changed as women took on certain roles, but not whether there is any evidence of trans identities as we understand them today. Perhaps there is simply no information currently known about transmen and transwomen in Viking like, but I’d wager that there were, and am curious about the lives they may have lived. Overall, though, this is a rich and fascinating book, and I recommend it highly.

All’s Well by Mona Awad. 5/5
In keeping with her previous books, in which witchcraft and darkness and breakdowns of body and mind are all fair game, Awad here goes back to college, this time focusing on theater teacher Miranda. Miranda, in a precarious position at work and dealing with chronic pain, casts a spell and summons a trio of odd men. Her pain transfers to a despised student, Miranda’s crush is suddenly smitten with her, and her favorite student is about to be a star. But what’s really going on? How much of what happens is strictly in Miranda’s mind, and how has her chronic pain shaped her perceptions of the events that unfold in the book? This is completely unnerving horror, but spiked with moments of empathy and sympathy, and for me, also a person who deals with chronic pain, a thought-provoking read. I want other people to read this immediately so I can talk with people about it.

The Shadow in the Glass by JJA Harwood. 1/5
In this Faustian tale, a young woman who aspires to the good life relies on a bargain with a demon–seven wishes in exchange for her soul. But while the wishes come true, most of them are accomplished by the woman herself, unknowingly murdering those in her way to achieving her goals. I’m not sure what the point of the tale is, other than perhaps you should do your murdering on your own, consciously, and do a better job of covering it up. Perhaps the demon was not real, and we are party to the woman’s hallucinations, which makes the book a bit more interesting–who is real? What characters and events are actually real? The characters are all rather stock-in-trade eighteenth or early nineteenth century figures, and my final reaction was just “meh.”

The Orphans of Davenport by Marilyn Brookwood. 2/5
This account of intelligence testing and the desire for creating smarter people, as it took place with the children abandoned by parents or otherwise without families and living in state institutions in Iowa is a very mixed bag. While author Brookwood frequently emphasizes her position on the abhorrence of eugenics, she also fails to interrogate the development of IQ tests and the other assessment tools used by researchers. Too often the slightly more humane eugenicists are celebrated over their worse colleagues, and this makes for a rather contradictory narrative.

The Hunter and the Old Woman by Pamela Korgemagi. 2/5
I’m not sure what to make of this book, a story mostly about a cougar–known as Cougar–whose life progresses as I would expect many cougars’ lives to progress; and a boy who grows to become obsessed with the cougar. The writing is fine, but I didn’t find this to be very engaging or compelling.

A Visitor’s Guide to Victorian England by Michelle Higgs. 1/5
This is a disorganized mess in which the writer assumes that the reader is a white, middle-class person who already knows a great deal about Victorian England. The author’s tone is judgmental and uneven, and the book really could use an overhaul by a developmental editor. Give this one a miss.

Call Me Athena by Colby Cedar Smith. 5/5
This is a truly excellent novel in verse, detailing the lives of three people as they make the decisions that will make their adult lives. Smith revels in language and image, but is equally at home cutting to the chase and being blunt. I loved the ways in which she made every character and narrator a poet, making each one more individual and interesting and special in the process. This book will be a great book club read, and it will stay with me a long time.

In the Forest of No Joy by J. P. Daughton. 2/5
This is an account of the Congo-Ocean railroad, made by enslaved Blacks in French-colonized Africa at the beginning of the 20th century. Author Daughton recounts the horrors inflicted on the people forced to work on the railroad, but does so repetitively and without clear organization, resulting in a book that circles and circles important topics but never provides readers with guideposts for understanding them more fully.

Multispecies Cities by Multiple Authors. 1/5
While the editors’ introduction is an eloquent and inspirational piece on climate change and fiction, the stories in this anthology are very uneven, ranging from poorly written to just passable. None lived up to the introduction, which is a shame, because the genre is an interesting one that deserves good representation.

Rule of Wolves by Leigh Bardugo. 5/5
Richly detailed and filled with enough background that readers don’t need to have read Bardgo’s earlier books in this series, Rule of Wolves promises another excellent novel of magic and war and intrigue and lore. I’m looking forward to the whole thing.

Violet and Daisy by Sarah Miller. 2/5
A simplistic and often euphemistic biography about conjoined twins Violet and Daisy Hilton, who were put on exhibit practically from birth, abused by managers, and ultimately ended up leaving show business when their lack of experience and changing entertainment tastes in the US met. Author Miller seems to have a penchant for writing books about highly public figures who never sought the limelight themselves, but in this book at least her take is a very superficial one, never delving into the issues of class, gender, and bodily autonomy that she promises in the introduction. A disappointment.

Good Southern Witches by J.D. Horn (editor). 5/5
This book is a treasure trove of witty, canny, well-told short stories, each one introducing the reader to a unique and interesting Southern witch. As you might expect, there are some cunning women in the Appalachian tradition, but also practitioners of vodun, weather witches, non-human witches, and more. This collection was a delight to read and I was sorry when I reached the end of it.

The Death of Jane Lawrence by Caitlin Starling. 4/5
A delicious gothic novel full of both psychological horror and magic, this book explores a number of standard gothic tropes, turning them into far more complex and interesting plot devices. There’s a slow-ish burn romance, women helping women, and set pieces that while recalling gothic predecessors are original and full of creepy detail and suggestions.

Firebreak by Nicole Kornher-Stace. 3/5
This is a solid book about resistance and group action. Set in a dystopian world where two enormous corporations that control everything including water, housing, and food are always at war, a professional gamers and gig workers uncover the secrets of one of the corporations and decide to make them public. While the characters were basically just names and had no real development or even descriptions, the story is compelling and the tech believable enough for the setting to make this an enjoyable read.

How Our Ancestors Died by Dr Simon Wills. 1/5
You can find more accurate and better-cited information on diseases of past years on Wikipedia, and none of the info you’ll find there is saturated with the absolute position of privilege that Willis asserts in his claims that no one dies of famine anymore. The information on doing genealogical research is likewise dated and supplanted by what’s easily found online. I have no idea why anyone would publish this book.

My Heart Is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones. 5/5
This is a horror novel for true lovers of the slasher genre. Jade, herself an expert in the form, is convinced that she’s in a real-life slasher film, and it turns out she’s not wrong. As seen through her eyes, we watch the genre’s celebrated figures and tropes come to life, from the initial disappearance of two Dutch teenagers to Jade’s last stand as the real Final Girl. There’s wit, pathos, and loads and loads of gore. Go watch a few classics–Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the Thirteenth–and then jump in.

he Missing Treasures of Amy Ashton by Eleanor Ray. 1/5
Amy Ashton is a dull and rather awful person. Ten years ago, her lover and her best friend disappeared at the same time, and she became a hoarder. Now a family has moved in across the street from her, and in a super- obvious and rather misogynist trope, Amy has a meet-cute with the dad and his boys. When the kids make a mess in Amy’s yard, she uncovers clues to the disappearance and begins to investigate. She learns that her lover was killed by the best friend’s lover, a cop, and that the best friend went into hiding. Able to put tis trauma behind her–and rather quickly and easily–Amy cleans up her house and kisses the dad.

I loathed this. It was trite and predictable, although the best friend’s behavior didn’t make a whole lot of sense. the lover and Amy seem to have had a very immature relationship, and I didn’t understand their supposed rapport. Overall, the writing is clunky and the characters stereotypes, and the use of mental illness as a plot device seemed unsympathetic and uninformed.

Cassandra, or Don’t Girls Love Horses

A nice mention in SF Classical Voice today about my Cassandra-inspired piece with Jessica Rudman, Cassandra, or Don’t Girls Love Horses, which will be premiered on 17 April! Here’s the full text of the piece, originally titled Girls Love Horses, with my author’s note:

 Author’s Note

Cassandra, princess of Troy, prophecies the arrival of and destruction contained within the Trojan Horse, given to Troy as a symbol of submission by Greeks as guided by Athena. Cassandra’s song begins wistfully as she remembers her youth with horses, but becomes increasingly agitated that the giant horse facing the gates of their city is the one she has seen in a prophetic vision, bringing with it “death and fate and death and fate” (from Homer, The Odyssey, scroll 4, line 21, trans. Samuel Butler, based on public domain edition, revised by Timothy Power and Gregory Nagy. A. C. Fifield, London. 1900). –KPL

I was a girl in Troy, and like so many girls,
I loved horses.

(in a reverie)

A pony from Thessaly was my darling,
and the one who had a star on her nose;
and the one I rode
the day before I was cursed
was gentle and swift on the plains.

When I was a girl
I rode on the horses
that the King my father owned.
They were meant for racing
and acrobatics in the hippodrome, but
I rode my horses away
from the men and their spears,
and their catalogues of ships.

I was a girl who loved horses.
And as a girl who knew no better,
I told my father never
to sacrifice
horses to Poseidon,
even though he is the horse god.

(in her present, more matter-of-fact)
I was a girl in Troy, and like so many girls,
I loved horses.
Now I am my city’s
most famous
mad
woman, and
I love horses–

But that beautiful mountainous
wooden
horse
I can see right now,
outside our gates–
Friends,
I do not love that horse.

I have warned you and warned you,
but you think my dreams
are those of a girl,
just a girl
who loves horses.

Please listen,
please hear:
I have seen horses
in my dreams
where I dream of smoke and fire

and that is the horse that I saw
in my sleep
when I dreamed
of the fall of Troy.

Didn’t I tell you? You called me mad
you said
what is wrong with you don’t
girls love horses?

This wooden horse
brings men who reek of heat and flesh
and the spears I have long avoided;
this horse is a ship for land and siege,
that races in funeral games.

This horse will not run with me
down to the bay in the fresh spring grass,
This horse will not run with me
around the track or out through the gate;

This horse is not a horse for escaping.

I saw this horse and its fir-tree flanks
and its body covered with skins; oh
I foresaw it,
I foretold it,
and you laughed–

and you said
you are mad don’t
girls love horses?

This horse, why a horse, oh
for Troy loves its horses, but my friends
this horse has no teeth but swords
and this horse will eat our hearts as we run.

Heed me now,
mark this danger.
Do not let us stable this horse, say
the stables are full, send it away;
it will kick and bite and throw us
under
its giant rolling hooves;

no foals rest within its womb
but a host of men all armed
and there in the heights is the priest felled
by the altar
where now the bull runs free,
the priest with serpents knotted at his arms
as he shouts–
as I have said–
do not trust the horse.

Trojans, if you love your horses now,
ride away from this one;
bring me my mare
sure-footed and blazed–

no, no–
give her to this girl by my side,
this girl, this girl who loves horses,
so that she can flee.
I will not escape:
I have dreamt that too,
in a wretched curl of sleep.

Let me tell you once more,
I beg you to believe me:

In the dark body
of the wooden horse,
in the belly of this mighty horse
we will find
the men I have seen:
Forty men there
and two in its eyes

bringing no gift

but death and fate

death and fate and death
and fate and
death:

Yet you keep asking
don’t girls love horses?