THE EDISON TRIALS

For years there were rumors of a cache of operatic cylinder trial recordings in a basement of the Edison National Historic Site. To an avid collector, this information was relative to an Egyptologist hearing of the existence of King Tut’s tomb before the actual excavation. What fascinating historic musical artifacts might have been hidden there?

At my mention of this to Ward Marston, he was as enthusiastic as I. He immediately contacted Site Archivist Jerry Fabris. Yes, Mr. Fabris replied, there were a number of such cylinders, in fact hundreds, which some time ago had been moved to more hospitable quarters. Mr. Fabris brought two of these for Ward to hear in his studio. It was immediately obvious that the cylinders should indeed be preserved on tape and the more interesting examples then be made available to the public. The Edison Historic Site agreed, and in turn Ward brought his equipment to the Site and transferred all of the cylinders. This was the first time these had been played since Edison himself heard them in 1912-1913.

What the trial cylinders contain are musical snippets by a host of European singers active in the 1912-13 period, some well known and others forgotten. Many of the recordings are simply of arpeggios (which are almost consistently identified as “scales”) and others are portions of arias or, in a few cases, songs. These were often abruptly terminated before the conclusion of the excerpt or else were begun at some spot other than the normal starting point. For reference purposes, the arias included on this CD are identified with the familiar beginning text, even if the selection is incomplete.

In many of the canisters are paper slips with a bit or two of basic information, such as the singer’s last name (not always spelled correctly) and occasionally a word or so from the title. In a few instances, written identification was completely missing. Fortunately, all the selections recorded in Italy (most in the summer of 1912) and most originating in Germany and France bear the artist’s last name in a spoken announcement.

The cylinders were remarkably well preserved, having been housed in metal canisters with the tops sealed and cushioned with protective padding. The containers still bear traces of coal dust, a reminder of their years of basement storage, and some are dented, which could have been a result of their original transatlantic crossing. Despite their fragile wax composition, however, few of the cylinders were broken or otherwise damaged.

Before delving further into the story of these fascinating cylinders, it might be helpful to know something of Thomas Edison’s role in the recording of operatic music. He was the inventor of the phonograph in 1877, but, generally speaking, he lacked the marketing perspective to make the most of his invention. He also had difficulty in delegating authority and insisted on being in charge of all aspects of production, whether he was equipped to do so or not.

In the early 1900s, the three major American record companies were Victor, Columbia, and Edison. Edison produced wax cylinders that played a maximum of two minutes. Victor issued disc records in various sizes that contained from two to more than five minutes of sound, and Columbia was active in both mediums. Late in 1902, Victor was the first American concern to raise the curtain on operatic recording by issuing a group of arias pressed from masters made by their European affiliate, the Gramophone and Typewriter Company. Columbia immediately replied with a series of domestically recorded discs by several Metropolitan Opera stars. At first, the success of these projects was more in terms of prestige than financial rewards, but Victor, in particular, forged ahead by also adding American produced recordings to its import line and rapidly developed a large and eventually profitable market for opera on the gramophone. Edison, usually being too late with too little, belatedly entered the competition in 1905 with a series of operatic cylinders. Their playing capacity of only two minutes each severely limited what could be recorded. Perhaps even more important, a number of the major voices had already been contracted by Victor and other European companies.

Edison introduced a four-minute cylinder in 1908 to compete with the Victor and Columbia 12" records. By then, at least in the realm of opera, the disc had the firm upper hand. The major stars were recording for Victor and, to a degree, Columbia. Disc records, while certainly breakable and prone to wear from careless handling, were still more durable than Edison’s fragile wax cylinders. Still, in 1909, Edison made a wholehearted attempt to capture more than the “crackerbarrel” trade, as even Edison’s house journal referred to the major focus of its business. A number of celebrities, including tenor Leo Slezak and famed actress Sarah Bernhardt, were recorded in studios set up in the U.S., England and France. For over two years Edison continued issuing classical cylinder recordings for a market less than enamored of them.

In 1910, Edison devised a disc recording method which circumvented the patents held by Victor and Columbia and that also offered superior sound. Early that year, Edison’s National Phonograph Company began recording operatic singers both here and abroad on 10" and 12" master records. The former would last the equivalent of a Victor or Columbia 12" record while the latter had the advantage of being able to hold more than eight minutes of sound per side. Again, Caruso, McCormack, Nordica, and the other major names were contracted elsewhere, but Edison secured a surprising number of important figures, particularly of European fame. By 1913, the time he decided to begin the commercial launching of his new product (the Edison Diamond-Disc Phonograph), he had amassed a library of about 2000 master records.

While it is clear that his system of recording was sonically superior to the competition’s, there were marked drawbacks. Edison new discs were extremely heavy and bulky, about a quarter inch thick, and could play only on Edison equipment. Another liability, which had been a consistent problem for years, was Edison himself, who insisted on managing every aspect of production and recording. As an example of his impractical nature, there is the case of the noted Finnish soprano, Aïno Ackte, who made thirty master records. These included the Final Scene from Salome, arias from French and Italian operas, and lieder as well. Only one of the records was issued, and this remained in the catalogue for only a matter of months. The others Edison disqualified on matters of repertoire (his favorite song alternated between “Kathleen Mavourneen” and “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen”), accompaniment (he preferred harp and a light string/woodwind background), or the quality of the voice. Of all the hundreds of operatic records made during the period of 1910-1913, less than five percent were actually issued, and of these none of the 12" size discs were included. This represented an investment of over two million dollars down the drain.

Here is where our cylinder story begins. In a further attempt to find voices that he felt were fitting for recording work, Edison assigned an agent, one Humbert Tosi, and an engineer to travel through Europe. With state-of-the-art portable recording equipment, they visited various locations and recruited artists not under contract to other companies to make two-minute trial cylinders. Edison wasn’t interested in the music used for these tests, however, but rather strictly the voice. In making these recordings, there were no opportunities for second attempts should there be a musical mishap along the way, so whatever happened, happened.

When testing was completed, All the cylinders were then shipped back to Edison for his evaluation, and he duly reported on many of these trials in his notebooks. Not one of the hundreds of singers tested was to meet with the inventor’s approval and subsequently appear on commercially issued Edison recordings. Interestingly he did accept one. In an Etude magazine interview in 1923, Edison recalled, “Only one singer of all that were sent to me had what I would term a perfect voice. That man lived in Italy. I cabled to have him come to America. Three days later he was dead and buried.” A colorful quote, but a bit exaggerated. In a March 11, 1914 letter from Mr. Tosi to Edison executive Walter H. Miller, Tosi wrote, “I note that the only baritone that Mr. Edison permitted us to use is Pignalosa. The artist died a month ago here in Milan.” A pity the cylinder no longer exists.

How could Edison have been so consistently misdirected in his opinions regarding singers and singing? Because of deafness, he had to do his listening with a horn or cupped hand, and it is likely that at least some of his idiosyncrasies regarding the voice might have been heightened by this handicap. The primary obstacle, however, was his distaste for “tremolo”, a term he used for any sort of pitch wavering, whether it be the primarily naturally produced effect of vibrato or a tension-induced tremolo. The first factor influencing Edison’s decision, then, would have been the degree of a singer’s noticeable vibrato, despite the fact that any singing voice requires some degree of natural vibrato. Without it there is only pure, basically colorless, tone. Another of Edison’s objections was the style of operatic singing. “The phonograph isn’t an opera house,” he noted in more than one memo, as the vocal sound he felt ideal would be of a volume one might produce to adequately fill a drawing room. He suggested on occasion that singers should make their records using a rehearsal level of volume. Dramatic voices were not to his taste. Another point demanded by Edison was the use of music for auditions with which he was familiar. His staff, wishing to remain gainfully employed, usually deferred to his decisions, or at least seldom verbally countermanded them.

An obvious solution to these problems would have been the delegation of authority. Had Edison remained in the scientific laboratory and left his commercial phonograph work to others, the history of operatic recording in general and his company in particular might have been considerably different.

In 1914, as a result of the brewing First World War, Edison terminated his European connections and concentrated on finding singers in the U.S. There was, from that point, no need of the European trial cylinders. Why this one group of several hundred survived isn’t known, particularly as most of the commercial cylinder masters were destroyed after Edison left the phonograph business in 1929. It is suspected that the surviving group was protected by the obscure storage location; the cylinders simply remained unnoticed for decades.

The technical approach to recording during the period before electricity took over the process in the later 1920s was to deaden all studio ambiance so the effect would be of the voice emanating directly from the phonograph. Many of the cylinder trials (particularly those of Italian origin) seem to have been made in large rooms with noticeable reverberation, creating a performance ambiance that one doesn’t encounter in commercial recordings of the period.

These trial recording sessions must have been similar to what might be called the “cattle call” audition: a bit of a song, a “thank you”, and then “next”. Still, they give us an ear to a long gone era. Some of the singers would be otherwise completely lost to posterity, as they left no issued recordings. Of those who did record elsewhere, these trials permit a different aural perspective and often provide much more vocal realism than is evidenced in their studio efforts. “There is not one good voice in the whole lot,” wrote Edison after auditioning one group of tests. “They [the singers] probably keep the stage because they are good actors and not because of a good voice.”

Unfortunately, a number of the trial cylinders mentioned in Edison’s books no longer exist, including, among many others, tests by Conchita Supervia (whose vibrato caused Edison major agita), Edward Johnson (as Edoardo Di Giovanni), Amelita Galli-Curci and Giulio Crimi. The great French dramatic soprano Félia Litvinne was also heard; Edison felt she might be good enough for ensemble work but not as a soloist. Still, the surviving samples include a number of artists who had substantial careers.

Very basic information has been presented for each singer. There has been no attempt to discuss their artistic or vocal merits, it being left to the reviewers and individual listeners to form their own opinions. I think it safe to say, however, that many of the voices would likely have had a degree of success in any era. I think you’ll find this to be a fascinating vocal adventure.

© Lawrence F. Holdridge, 2000