Latest posts

Ronnie Munro

“The Riff Song” (1927)

“The Riff Song.” Words by Otto Harbach, Oscar Hammerstein 2nd, and Frank Mandel, with music by Sigmund Romberg. Recorded in London in February 1927 by Ronnie Munro and His Dance Orchestra, with vocals by Maurice Elwin. Ariel 4251 (from Parlophone E-5762) mx. E-1206-1.

Personnel: Ronnie Munro-p dir. Jack Jackson-Max Goldberg-Frank Wilson-Lloyd Shakespeare-t / Lew Davis-tb / Charlie Swinnerton-Ben Davis-?Nat Star-cl-as / Buddy Featherstonhaugh-cl-ts / vn / Barry Mills or Carrol Gibbons-2nd p / Len Shevill-bj-g / bb-sb / Max Bacon-d-vib / Wag Abbey-Rudy Starita-d-x / Maurice Elwin-v

Ronnie Munro (v. Maurice Elwin) – “The Riff Song” (1927)

From 1921 to 1926, Moroccan Berber insurgents known as Riffians (named for the mountainous Rif region) rebelled against the colonizing forces of Spain. The Riffians proved to be formidable and skilled opponents, in spite of the asymmetry of the warfare (with the Spanish using aircraft and even chemical weapons). It was only with the intervention in 1924 of France (which had its own protectorate in Morocco), aided by American mercenary aviators, that the Berbers began to falter. In 1926 they were forced to surrender.

Meanwhile, in America (which was trying to remain neutral), Hungarian-born composer Sigmund Romberg and his team of lyricists (Harbach, Hammerstein, and Mandel) seem to have gauged that popular revulsion at the involvement of the American mercenaries in what was perceived as an unfair conflict, as well as a growing vogue for all things Saharan, would create an enthusiastic audience for an operetta sympathizing with the Riffians. The Desert Song had a convoluted plot involving a masked white savior character named Pierre, who, while posing as a Berber and leading the Riffians against the French, is actually himself French and even the son of the French general opposing the Berbers. As the rebel leader “the Red Shadow,” Pierre leads a double life comparable to those of the Scarlet Pimpernel and Zorro (a more recent parallel would be Superman/Clark Kent). Early in the drama, he sings “The Riff Song,” in which he boasts of the valor and prowess of “the Riffs” (i.e., the Riffians) and the Red Shadow.

Ronnie Munro’s arrangement of the song is similar to the one that American Don Voorhees had used the previous year and includes a few (possibly not very authentic) gestures in the direction of world music that nevertheless serve to summon a feeling of place. Maurice Elwin is given just one brief iteration of the chorus to sing, but it stands out as a particularly impressive vocal performance. Elwin had had his formal education at the Royal Academy of Music, where operatic technique would have been a mainstay of instruction. It is pleasing to hear him applying his training judiciously in the context of operetta.

“The Riff Song” was recorded in America in 1926 by Nat Shilkret and the Victor Orchestra (v. The Revelers) and by Don Voorhees and His Earl Carroll Vanities Orchestra (v. The Shannon Quartet). In 1927, British artists who recorded “The Riff Song” include Alfredo’s Band, the Savoy Orpheans (dir. Carroll Gibbons), Jack Payne and His Hotel Cecil Orchestra (v. orchestra), the Debroy Somers Band (in a Desert Song medley), Harry Bidgood’s Orchestra (on Aco and Coliseum with vocalist John Thorne and on Broadcast with Bobby Sanders), Stan Greening’s New Regenta Orchestra (in a Desert Song medley), and Bert Firman’s Dance Orchestra (as Eugene Brockman’s Dance Orchestra).

Bert and John Firman

“Slow Music” (1928)

“Slow Music” (Lax-Craig). Recorded in B Studio, Hayes, Middlesex on October 17, 1928 by the Rhythmic Eight (under the musical direction of John Firman) with vocalists Maurice Elwin, Arthur Lally, and Johnny Helfer. Zonophone 5233 (and Salabert FZ-950) mx. Yy-14801-2.

Personnel: John Firman dir. Sylvester Ahola-t / Arthur Lally-cl-as-bar-v / Jack Miranda-as-bar / Johnny Helfer-cl-ts-v / ?Bert Read-p / Joe Brannelly-bj / Billy Bell-bb / Rudy Starita-d / Maurice Elwin-v

The Rhythmic Eight (v. Maurice Elwin, Arthur Lally, and Johnny Helfer) – “Slow Music” (1928)

“Slow Music” is, paradoxically, an eminently memorable song that has been almost entirely overlooked by artists; indeed, the Rhythmic Eight recording of it may be the only one ever made. Even the songwriters are obscure. “Lax” being a comparatively rare surname, I would venture to guess that one songwriter was the Arnold T. Lax whose hometown newspaper declared him to be a “second [Irving] Berlin,”1 although I do not recognize any of his other known compositions, while “Craig” (presumably misspelled on my Salabert disc as “Graig”) might be the Edward F. Craig who collaborated with Lax on one other song.2

The only recording, then, of “Slow Music,” was made at an unusual Rhythmic Eight session where Maurice Elwin, at that time the band’s go-to singer, was joined in a vocal trio by saxophonist Arthur Lally and reed player Johnny Helfer. The three work well together, though the difference in singing experience is apparent. Elwin’s voice is readily identifiable throughout. In “Slow Music,” I was surprised not to be able to detect the familiar idiosyncrasies of Arthur Lally’s voice (which can be heard speaking and occasionally singing on quite a few British dance band records — perhaps best in the Million-Airs’ “Just a Crazy Song”), but the final song recorded at the October 17, 1928 session, “This Is the Way the Puff-Puff Goes,” features only Helfer and Lally doing distinct vocal parts, and there Lally is definitely recognizable.

The Rhythmic Eight’s “Slow Music” features a mesmerizing arrangement, and the vocal harmony evokes a moody atmosphere. It is funny to note that this, the only known treatment of the song, is not particularly slow — a detail which may be due entirely to the judgment of director John Firman.

The recording serves as a reminder that Elwin was a singer who frequently collaborated in duets, trios, and even quartets (as with the Ramblers). I never seem to have difficulty detecting his voice in a group, but that is not to say that he dominates the overall sound unduly or fails to blend with his collaborators. Rather, I would say that he possessed certain vocal strengths that stand out in almost any context. The Rhythmic Eight themselves definitely stand out as a virtuoso group on this occasion, as always, with Sylvester Ahola’s trumpet performance being particularly noteworthy.

  1. Portland [Maine, USA] Evening Express, “Arnold T. Lax is Second Berlin As Composer of Song,” December 15, 1926, newspapers.com. ↩︎
  2. “’Mid Roses Twining.” ↩︎
George van Dusen

“Yodel-O-Eskimo” (1931)

“Yodel-O-Eskimo.” Composed by Joe Pearson and Harry Stogden. Recorded c. February 2, 1931 by George van Dusen and Maurice Elwin. Parlophone R-1000 & Regal Zonophone MR-1906 (mx. E-3912-1).

George van Dusen & Maurice Elwin – “Yodel-O-Eskimo” (1931)

When commemorating milestones in Maurice Elwin’s life and afterlife (today is his 127th birthday), I am always faced with a difficult choice. Should I share my thoughts on one of his many sublime dance band recordings? Should I surprise my readers with a lesser-known solo recording? Or should I share something considerably more outré that attests to his good sense of humor and his willingness to record virtually anything as long as it paid? Put that way, the latter choice seems obvious, so I will turn my attention to an instance of Elwin’s propping up a novelty yodeling act with the strength of his excellent singing.

Yodeling is a technique of alternating the voice between the natural and falsetto ranges to produce a warbling effect; it is found around the world, but in European contexts it is most often associated with Swiss cowherds and other such people. Originally a way of calling out to animals, yodeling does not usually involve conventional language, but rather comparatively nonsensical vocalizations. I like to think of it as “Alpine scat.” For Anglophone audiences, yodeling may be generally considered an acquired taste, but it does appear to have been somewhat in vogue in the early 1930s. Perhaps the popularity of Jimmie Rodgers’s cowboy yodeling from the late 1920s onward had opened people’s minds to the art form’s potential.

Thomas Harrington (1905-1992) spent more than half a century sharing his love of Alpine yodeling with the British public,1 starting his music hall career in 1921 at the age of 16. He always worked under pseudonyms, the most common of which was the one used on “Yodel-O-Eskimo”: George van Dusen, the Great Dutch Yodler. He recorded quite a few records, and there are nine known sides where he is joined by Maurice Elwin, whose singing voice van Dusen acknowledged to be stronger than his own.2 On this particular record, Elwin does all of the singing, and van Dusen only provides the yodeling. The usual rule seems to have been for van Dusen alone to be acknowledged on the label; only on Parlophone R-1080 is Elwin credited (as John Curtis, his usual Parlophone pseudonym).

van Dusen seems to have populated the record catalogues with various attempts at driving home the universal appeal of yodeling. He recorded “The Yiddisher Yodeller,” “The Yodelling Chinaman,”3 “The Yodelling Bullfighter” — the list goes on. “Yodel-O-Eskimo” presents us with the story of Ice Pack Joe, an indigenous Arctic person who hears yodeling over the radio and is inspired to imitate it. The concept of the song is ridiculously simple, and there is little attempt at understanding or even stereotyping Northern peoples; the lyrics mostly just reiterate how cold it is where they live. van Dusen even recorded a follow-up to “Yodel-O-Eskimo,” “The Wedding of Eskimo Joe” (without Elwin). The silliness of the underlying concepts for these songs is apparent: van Dusen just wants an excuse to yodel, so he is not bothered by the complexity of an Englishman (Thomas Harrington) pretending to be a Dutchman (George van Dusen) pretending to be an Inuit (Ice Pack Joe) pretending to be a Swiss yodeler.

What makes this record worth having, though, is Maurice Elwin’s wonderfully mock-sincere delivery of the lyrics. The contrast between his careful diction and van Dusen’s awkward vocalizations is simply hilarious. It is hard to imagine Elwin keeping a straight face during the recording; it is easy to imagine him smiling all the way to the bank, though. “Yodel-O-Eskimo” is just one extreme example of how he was admirably willing to lend a hand in the production of music of all genres.

  1. Rick Hardy and Arthur Badrock. “George van Dusen: A Life by Rick Hardy; A Discography by Arthur Badrock.” Talking Machine Review 86 (Spring 1994): 2502-2505. ↩︎
  2. Ibid., 2504. ↩︎
  3. Apologies for the dated and now offensive exonym; for that matter, I understand that “Eskimo” is now frowned upon, as well. ↩︎