Monthly Archives: December 2013

Aloha ‘Oe

Before we get to Aloha ‘Oe, check this out. Irene West Royal Hawaiians playing a Hawaiian Waltz Medley in December 1914.

At the start of December Sean Munger had a week of posts about Hawaiian history in his wonderful blog. For me, Hawaii is immediately synonymous with ukulele music. Not to neglect such a strong association, Sean reblogged a post from If It Happened Yesterday, It’s History about the history of the ukulele. Based on the Portuguese machete (or braguinha), a small member of the guitar family, the ukulele was first introduced to Hawaii in 1879 – around the time Thomas Edison’s Menlo Park and Alexander Graham Bell’s Volta Laboratories were developing and refining the first phonograph machines thousands of miles away. The use of lap-steel guitar also gave Hawaiian music a very distinctive sound. Lap-steel guitar originated in Hawaiian music (Hawaiian Joseph Kekuku is credited with its invention in 1885) and it was later borrowed by country music, bluegrass, rock, jazz and blues, especially once the innovation of electrical amplification arrived. The lap steel guitar was placed across the player’s lap and played using a metal or glass slide. In the twenty years between the introduction of the ukulele and Hawaii’s annexation to the United States in 1898, ukulele and lap-steel guitar became incredibly popular in Hawaii and came to redefine their musical sound. Those years also spanned the phonograph’s development from scientific curiosity to commercially viable entertainment system. The stage is set for the twentieth century.

Picture of The Edison Phonograph Player

Toots Paka Hawaiian Company

1905 saw the first Hawaiian music releases from Victor Records. Their huge popularity led Columbia Records and others to follow suit with their own Hawaiian artists a few years later. By 1916, according to a quote from Hawai’i Digital Newspaper Project, Hawaiian music was preferred over classical music “ten to one” by the inhabitants of Tacoma, Washington. America’s newest state was seen as an exotic paradise and its cheerful relaxed-sounding music was adopted enthusiastically by people in mainland United States. In 1914, the Hawaiian music craze was in full swing. And from this period we have several wonderful recordings to listen to. One of the biggest names in Hawaiian music at this time was the Irene West Royal Hawaiian Band. There is a collection of recordings on National Jukebox from December 1914 and January 1915, a number of instrumentals performed by Irene West Royal Hawaiians, solo performances from band member Pale K. Lua and instrumental duets with Pale K. Lua and David K. Kaili.

Above is Toots Paka Hawaiian Company‘s version of Aloha ‘Oe from 1914.
Below is Elvis’s version.

The song Aloha ‘Oe was written by Hawaii’s last queen, Liliʻuokalani in 1877 or 1878. Lyrics (including English translation) and a link to sheet music are available on the Wikipedia page for this song, along with the charming story of how Queen Lili’uokalani hummed the song into existence with her royal party as they made their return trip to Honolulu on horseback from the Boyd ranch in Maunawili on the windward side of Oʻahu. The song is one of Hawaii’s most famous, it’s often been described as the leitmotif of Hawaii. I found a really great version from 1914 by the Toots Paka Hawaiian Company. I also decided to include a couple of more modern versions, one by Elvis Presley in 1961 (from the movie Blue Hawaii) and below is the version from Disney’s Lilo & Stitch in 2002. If anyone knows of any other notable modern versions, please leave a comment.

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Navajo Indian Songs

Geoffrey O'Hara Record

‘Navajo Indian Songs’ – Geoffrey O’Hara
File embedded from
Cylinder Preservation & Digitization Project,
Department of Special Collections,
Donald C. Davidson Library,
University of California, Santa Barbara

Every song tells a story. Most old sound recordings I’ve found online have some metadata attached – composer’s names, performers names, date of recording. When I start looking into these names and reading about the lives and careers of the people involved in the recording, it brings a new layer of understanding to the material. When I stumbled across ‘Navajo Indian Songs’, I knew there must be an interesting story behind it. Introduced and sung by Geoffrey O’Hara, a Canadian American composer, singer, ethnomusicologist and music professor, his respect for the Navajo musical tradition is apparent, though his use of the word ‘savage’ is typical enough of the time. He introduces one Navajo medicine song by saying, These songs abound in strange and wonderful rhythms and melodies, many of them quite baffling and bewildering to our ears. At first hearing, they sound as if they were simply improvisations of a savage mind. But upon investigation, the student finds that they are composed along well-established rules and abound in poetic figures of speech. And in the performance of most of them, not the slightest error is tolerated.

There’s a great forum for antique phonograph and recording enthusiasts called ‘The Talking Machine Forum’. On it I found a thread about O’Hara’s Navajo recordings. Lenoirstreetguy posted a wonderful photograph (apparently taken from a book – see bottom of post) of O’Hara and three Navajo singers, with unnamed phonograph operator and, as interestingly noted by Lenoirstreetguy, a battery-powered phonograph recording machine. O’Hara’s recordings of Navajo songs began in 1913, on behalf of the U.S. Government. Another member of The Talking Machine Forum, Discman, added the text from a May 1913 article in Le Petit Journal’s illustrated supplement, Les Peaux Rouges et le Phonographe (The Redskins and the Phonograph). If I’m not mistaken, this is Discman’s own English translation of the French article…

Everyone knows how quickly the last races of the primitive inhabitants of North America are disappearing. Within a century, perhaps, there will be no more redskins in the United States.

This disappearance is unavoidable. This is why, before it becomes accomplished fact, the American government is taking the effort to collect all the materials which will permit future scholars to study these people.

Thus, the Secretary of the Interior in Washington chose Mr. Geoffrey O’Hara to collect the songs and music of the indigenous tribes of the United States. These songs are, it appears, highly original.

Therefore Mr. O’Hara has arranged to record into a “talking machine” the principal songs of the tribes, which still exist. He began with the tribe of the Blackfeet who are encamped in the Glacial National Park, in the state of Montana.

Three of the principal chiefs: “Medicine Bull,” “Sleeps Long Time,” and “Big Top,” were brought to New York where they were invited by Mr. O’Hara to sing into a precision phonograph.

”The Indians,” we read in Musical America, ”could only with difficulty understand how, in singing into a sort of funnel, one could possibly harvest the sound of their voices. A few minutes after they had recorded their first song the machine was started up. The magic of the operation left them stupefied. They declared that it was the most extraordinary marvel of any they had seen in the Empire City.”

The modern reader is struck by the callousness of the first couple of paragraphs, the description of Native Americans as ‘primitive’ and the casual assertion that their ‘disappearance is unavoidable’. If these were the prevailing ideas of the time, then the story of Geoffrey O’Hara’s engagement with their musical culture becomes more extraordinary. He found a musical sophistication and depth where many others heard ‘improvisations of a savage mind’. ‘Navajo Indian Songs’ was included on The Edison Phonograph Monthly (v.12 from 1914) which was very well-subscribed at the time. It would have been the subject of many heated discussions, no doubt. I can’t help but admire O’Hara for undertaking a musical project that must have been so strange to his sensibilities, rather like my own journey into the archives. If music is unfamiliar to our ears, we may dismiss it immediately. Or we may realise that it has something to teach us.

O'Hara & Navajo Recording

Above is the image shared by Lenoirstreetguy.
Below, the cover of Le Petit Journal which featured the article translated by Discman.
Original French text available on cent.ans.free.fr

LePetitJournal Navajo

The Monotone (Ein Ton)

Ein Ton Sheet MusicThis haunting song comprises a vocal melody of just a single note. Of the 1914 songs I’ve covered so far, this is probably the most avant-garde. It was written in 1854 by German composer Peter Cornelius. The version I first discovered is on The U.S. National Library of Congress music website, National Jukebox. It was sung by world-famous Romanian-born American soprano Alma Gluck. She was accompanied on violin by Efrem Zimbalist, who she later married. It was recorded in New York on November 15th, 1914 with Samuel Chotzinoff on piano. You can listen to that version here.

The process of figuring out such a compositionally unusual song was difficult. I felt like I was getting tinnitis as I tried to work out the chords. Eventually I discovered a sheet music resource online called The Mutopia Project. Here I found sheet music (which as a self-taught semi-illiterate musician I could probably decipher with a bit of work) and MIDI files (which is better than sheet music for most home-recording nerds). The monotonous vocal melody is compensated for by the rich harmonic line on the piano. The metaphysical lyric is full of grief and hopelessness until the last verse when the chords switch from minor to major and the monotonous vocal line is given a completely different context and mood.

In my research, I found some contemporary versions of this song. In the first I’ve posted, taken from Antonio Faieta’s YouTube channel, you can hear the original German lyrics. The second is an instrumental version, saxophonist Ties Mellema plays the vocal melody with his left hand as he has injured his right. Just as it can be challenging to sing such a monotonous melody without it becoming boring, playing a one note melody on any instrument requires excellent dynamic control and imaginative phrasing, evidenced here by an exemplary performance. As I considered how to arrange and record the song myself, I toyed with the idea of playing the piano melody (the part reimagined by Zimbalist for violin in the 1914 version) on an electric guitar. I tried it out but opted in the end for the simplest piano arrangement with layered heavily-effected vocals. I used some unusual EQ settings on some of the layered vocals, emphasising the exact frequencies that correlated to the consistent ‘B’ note of the vocal melody to cause some distortion effects. I also added an almost imperceptible drone, a feedback effect that grows and grows until the chords change to major. In short, I had some fun with it.

I hear a tone
so wondrous rare,
it fills my heart
’tis ever there.

Ah, can it be
the last faint breath
that stirr’d thy pallid lips ere death?

Is it the tender monotone
of church bell which for thee made moan?

Lo, still it comes!
So full, so clear,
as though thy soul
were floating near…

As though with love and yearning deep
you sang my bitter pain to sleep.

This video is intended to explain the concept behind this music archive revival blog. Please share it with any musicians you know who might be interested in reinterpreting a song from 1914.

The English translation of the lyrics was made some time before 1894 and is attributed to C. Hugo Laubach. I found this information on The Lied, Art Song, and Choral Texts Archive, a great resource for finding lyrics and authorship information of classical music. The original lyrics in German are also available.

If you have any further information on this song, please feel free to write a comment (or email me). Let’s get a discussion going! Are there other notable modern versions of this song? Does this song mean something special to you? Any feedback or historical background information is very welcome.

Let’s Make Music. Let’s Make History.

There are many projects in Digital Humanities which need active participation from a community of users in order to grow. The most famous and staggering example is Wikipedia, a vast Encyclopedia of human knowledge produced, edited and updated by its own users, generously donating their time and expertise to make it an invaluable resource for millions of people. New technology has enabled the interconnectivity of scattered users throughout the world, based not on geography but on the interests of those people. Clay Shirky spoke of ‘cognitive surplus’, the generosity of these scattered users uniting for a common goal, contributing to a collaborative project of some kind, using their own free time, resources and expertise to build something for the common good.

There are also many projects in Digital Humanities which seek to digitise archived material to give it new value. Once text is digitised and collated in a computer system, it becomes possible to perform text mining and other technologically advanced techniques to obtain new meaning and insights from the material.

Music is a special case among these archived materials. A computer algorithm cannot analyse and extract meaning from a sound recording to the same degree that it can ‘understand’ text. For archived music, human ears and listening is required. Metadata is often attached to a music file. In the case of a wax record from a hundred years ago being transferred to .mp3 or .wav format, the kind of dry information that is typically attached will not answer the kinds of questions a musician, or indeed a casual listener, might want to ask.




Four very different interpretations of
When You’re a Long Long Way from Home
performed and recorded since 1914.

I would contend that music itself is alive. Songs are not static and unchanging, good songs are malleable things. A strong melody can be transposed in style from jazz to classical to rock. It can survive and thrive in different time signatures, at different tempos, on different instruments. A good song can be reinterpreted and reimagined to suit the sensibilities and peculiar gifts of the musician or musicians reworking it. A hundred different singers will sing it a hundred different ways. Just listen to these strikingly different versions of the same song. It was recorded by influential R&B outfit The Orioles in 1951, by Bing Crosby and The Paradise Isle Trio in 1954, Buffalo Bills in 1961 and the final version was performed by The Fralinger String Band earlier this year. Across these different versions the song went from soul to soft jazz to barbershop to bluegrass banjo/string band. And the first recording I can find of this song is by Henry Burr in 1914. Interestingly, Henry Burr recorded ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?’ in 1927. You could say he was the Elvis of his day.

Music, more than most literary forms, can have an immediate emotional impact. It is a uniquely personal and emotional form of human expression. I recently read a thought-provoking post entitled ‘Emotion, Archives, Interactive Fiction, and Linked Data’ on Mark A. Motienzo’s blog. In it, he examines the idea that archives can be repositories of emotion, appealing not merely to the academic or the intellectual parts of our minds, but connecting very powerfully with our emotional cores. It occurs to me that music archives have the power to move us like no other archives.

You Broke My Heart to Pass the Time Away
Sung by Manuel Romain in 1914
A fine example of emotion in the archives.



File embedded from
The Internet Archive (archive.org)

As a musician and songwriter myself, I’m very interested in old songs. What made them different from songs today? What makes a song timeless? The archived music from 1914 is fascinating. In terms of sound quality, it’s sometimes grainy and muffled. The old recordings are scratchy, the bass end is missing, the overall sound fidelity leaves an awful lot to be desired. Apart from the sound quality, I’m struck by how different the vocal stylings are from what’s common today. Most singers then were accustomed to performing without electrical amplification, they projected their voices to fill large rooms in an operatic style. Backing music was typically ornate and orchestral. The modern drum kit barely existed yet, most songs had none, and the rhythm would slow down and speed up in response to the crescendos and mood of the vocal performance. All of these features make these songs very different from most modern songs.

Part of my exploration of music archives has been to find songs that still feel relevant, though they were being performed a hundred years ago. The process of finding these songs has been quite organic. I don’t have specific criteria, I’m just looking for songs that I like. I want to undertake a project that allows me to indulge my passion for music in a hands-on creative way. The idea of methodically cataloguing music archives or some such other typically-academic project was intimidating in its scale and would likely never be completed. There are thousands of archives on the Internet, some in private collections only available to certain academic institutions and/or paid subscribers. I found the idea of reinterpreting one song at a time much more exciting. The idea becomes more exciting still if lots of people decide to do it – it can become a community of curators and creators. When I sat down at my piano and figured out the chords to some of these songs, they came alive again. Immediately, as musicians do, I was thinking about how I would rearrange and rework them to suit my own peculiar gifts and sensibilities. Compositionally, I found the chords interesting, sometimes jazzy, sometimes presciently modern in feel. Some very sophisticated musical ideas were hiding behind those scratchy old recordings. I felt like I learned a lot in the process of reinterpreting them. And I found it so enjoyable, I thought perhaps other musicians would enjoy it too.

Picture of The Edison Phonograph Player

The Edison Phonograph Cylinder Player, an early record player. In 1914, cylinders were losing out to the new disc format in the first commercial format war of recorded music.

Music recording software has allowed many people to have a functional recording studio in their home. There’s a legion of bedroom producers out there who are making incredible music across all kinds of genres. I began thinking how brilliant it would be to harness some of that talent and creativity and direct it to an archive-revival project, taking those old songs and reworking them into something new and unique. Picking a hundred years ago as a starting point will ensure most songs are out of copyright, allowing musicians to experiment with them however they please. In 1914, recorded music was in its infancy. That’s a good place to start. That narrow time-frame will make this a focused cohesive blog. Hundred Years Late will be a forum for musicians to showcase their talents and share the songs they found most interesting. Contributors will be encouraged to write about what they have recorded, why they picked the song, any historical background, links to the archived version (where possible), lyrics, score, chords etc, anything the musician wants to include. Other visitors to the blog can comment, perhaps contributing other historical information or links to further resources on the song.

As the collection grows, the links to various scattered archives will start to amass as contributors and enthusiasts find more archived material. Ultimately this will make the blog a valuable resource about where to find music from this era. If this project aims to mirror the archives a hundred years later, it will be an incomplete picture. Not every archived song will grab the attention of modern listeners and inspire musicians to record a cover version. But it will encourage engagement with music archives and salvage from obscurity some absolutely wonderful songs that have a lot to offer modern audiences and a lot to teach modern songwriters. If it works like I’m hoping it will, it can be a vivid, creative and vibrant community. The more musicians, contributors, followers and enthusiasts we can attract, the better the resource will become.

To get the ball rolling, I’m going to upload a couple of songs I’ve recorded. Each blog entry will include background info contributed by the musician, a link to the source version in an archive (where available), the contributor’s version of the song in some streamable format (YouTube video, Soundcloud widget, anything WordPress-compatible). Hopefully other user comments will provide further metadata. This ‘music-blog’ style arrangement allows the contributors to host the Be Creative!music however they please and retain control of it. It also seems to be a manageable format from my point of view. If musicians email me with their work, I can compose the posts in a consistent format and maintain the focus of the blog as a Digital Humanities project and a resource on archived music. I’ve posted a video on YouTube that introduces the project and outlines its objectives. It would be good of you to share it, especially among Digital Humanities practitioners, lecturers and students and most importantly, musicians who enjoy a challenge.

If you like this idea, please help me run with it. Tell people. Tweet and talk.