"Race, Gender, and Nationality in American Popular Music,
1890-1945" sounded like a pretty interesting topic. Well, a
fashionable one, anyway. With that title alone, participants at
the Organization of American Historians (OAH) annual conference
in Chicago March 28-31 could not have known exactly what to
expect. And a glance at the conference brochure would not have
cleared things up considerably. Douglas Daniels of the University
of California, Santa Barbara was delivering a paper on "Lester
Young: His Critics and Colleagues." Lewis A. Erenberg of Loyola
University of Chicago was discussing "The Politics of Race and
Culture in the Swing Era." Then, in what must have been a
conference organizer's attempt at piecing together disparate
subjects, William Kenney of Kent State University spoke on "Women
and the Phonograph, 1890-1945." The session was misnamed, as
gender was not addressed, and nationality was conspicuously
absent.
Daniels discussed Lester Young, the lead saxophonist in the
Count Basie Orchestra. Daniels began his paper proclaiming that
jazz musicians, and particularly black jazz musicians--received
and continue to receive worse treatment than any other group of
artists by critics, agents, and the popular press. He continued
by giving evidence that white critics, especially Frank Buchmann
Moller, were engaged in an "attack on black heroes, black people,
and black culture." Daniels claimed that while white critics
unanimously acknowledged, admired, and respected Lester Young's
genius and originality, they stressed what they called his
"antisocial behavior." Nowhere would the white critics describe
Young as his fellow musicians and friends described him, as an
all around lovely, decent human being, as "just beautiful."
Although some called Young standoffish to whites," stated
Daniels, "he had many white friends, including his second wife."
The meat of Daniels' argument dealt with Frank Buchmann Moller,
who authored a chapter in Louis Porter's recent _A Lester Young
Reader_ entitled "The Last Years of Lester Young." Buchmann
Moller attempts to prove that the reason for Young's early
artistic and musical decline was neurosyphilis. Daniels attacks
Buchmann Moller's argument as a "character assassination typical
of treatments of jazz musicians and black people in general."
Daniels points to "weak and scurrilous, if not scandalous"
reasoning based on "scanty evidence." Buchmann Moller never
consulted Young's personal physician although he was alive when
Buchmann Moller researched the chapter.
Buchmann Moller did not interview Young's family members nor did
he get any professional medical opinion. Buchmann Moller
severely distorted the words of Young's friends and fellow
musicians to prove his thesis, as in the following selection
Daniels quoted: "Paresis usually affects patients in their
forties or fifties, and in Young's case it caused him insomnia,
depressions, and emotional instability that sometimes made him
cry, all conditions described by colleagues like Willie Jones,
Gil Evans, Jo Jones, and Buddy Tate. . ." Delivering his paper at
the conference, Daniels took Buchmann Moller to task for such
convoluted reasoning and sloppy history. He also castigated
Louis Porter for including such a piece in his book. Although
Daniels kept his argument tightly focused, he was able to use
Buchmann Moller as a representative of the misunderstandings, of
what Daniels terms the "social-intellectual distance" between
jazz artists- -particularly black jazz artists--and the public.
In an almost perfect complement to Daniels' piece, Lewis A.
Erenberg delivered an equally powerful argument. Instead of
focusing on a black musician and his critics to understand issues
of jazz and race, Erenberg discussed a white critic, John
Hammond. As Erenberg stated, the term "critic" is often
misleading when applied to jazz authors in the era of Swing, as
many of them could be more aptly described as fans and disciples.
Hammond was definitely one of the fans among the writers and
agents, and Erenberg uses him as an example of a larger
phenomenon: a growing segment of America in the twenties and
thirties that identified with and appreciated jazz music as the
authentic America.
A new idealism, argues Erenberg, and a new nationalism were
born out of jazz. There was "an insurgent spirit in the Swing
Age filled with utopianism," filled with a belief that "a new
democracy had triumphed over racism." Hammond saw a clear bond
between politics and music, and Erenberg argues that in this
sense Hammond represents what jazz was really all about.
Erenberg points out that Hammond "pushed Benny Goodman to break
the color line" and he constantly advocated for equal treatment
for black musicians. Expanding from Hammond to the jazz magazine
Hammond wrote for, Erenberg observes that "Downbeat" "covered
black almost as much as white music." Although he does not deny
"the exploitation on the part of the music scene," Erenberg sees
jazz in the Swing Era as having had a positive influence on the
American people, and race relations specifically. Admitting that
"Downbeat" was ambivalent on integration, Erenberg maintains that
it nonetheless "served as a forum for discussion," bringing the
race question to the fore, demanding of their readers to "'think
about the subject and not feel about the subject.'" Erenberg
ended his discussion on a rhetorical note, leaving the audience
to wonder "could American society respond to the ideology jazz
created?"
The last paper delivered was William Kenney's on "Women and
the Phonograph 1890-1945," which frankly seemed so out of place
that it was difficult for this reporter to concentrate on the
subject rather than on its placement on the panel. This was an
unfortunate situation, mainly because Kenney's paper was so
fascinating. If there were a few papers on related topics there
would have certainly been some lively and edifying discussion.
Kenney spoke of the nineteenth century cult of female
domesticity, and how the introduction of the phonograph "helped
give expression to an unexpectedly wider variety of women's
expression and role." Explaining that music had feminine
connotations at the turn of the century, Kenney described how
phonograph marketing efforts were almost exclusively aimed at
women. In contrast to the radio, which was mainly regarded as a
man's appliance, the phonograph was considered the woman's home
companion. Well over seventy percent of phonographs, according
to Kenney, were sold to women.
An interesting new phenomenon the phonograph brought about
was the popularity of the operatic aria. While previously opera
fans would study the libretto and be familiar with the story, the
phonograph made the aria and the aria singer the main--or really
the only--attraction. Although not entirely clear on what were
the new and unexpected modes of expressions for women, Kenney
underscored the influential role of women on music in twentieth
century America.
Unfortunately, three fine and insightful pieces did not make
one coherent session. Although there was much lively individual
discussion with the authors after the session, the public
question- answer period was sparse, and rather boring, as each
questioner could only direct his comment to one scholar.
Although several of the conferees expressed that they learned a
lot, none could remember the title of the session, and few could
come up with one of their own.
Aaron Michael Becker
Department of History
U of Illinois-Chicago
<abecke1@UIC.EDU>