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None of Us Know the Words: Lessons from the Mid-20th Century Monocultural Americana 1860 political cartoon from Ohio depicting the four presidential candidates dancing to the tune of a decision made by the Supreme Court in 1857, which ruled that enslaved people and their descendants could not be part of the Democratic political power structure and that slavery could not be abolished by federal or local law. Photo via the Library of Congress.

None of Us Know the Words: Lessons from the Mid-20th Century Monocultural Americana

2 days ago23-25 minutes read

Written by:

Ian Nagoski

Edited by:

Dragoș Rusu

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Introduction

The U.S.A.’s global economic, military, and hegemonic power during the period circa 1945-75 coincided with a definition of itself that resulted in a musical canon drawn from the blues-jazz-country-rock-folk cultural continuum. That period in U.S. history included the second half of four decades of radical immigration restrictions.

Since 1975, efforts have been made to research and disseminate non-English-language music produced in the U.S. during the first half of the twentieth century. However, these efforts have had little impact on reshaping the broader cultural consciousness—both within the U.S. and abroad—about the vitality of multicultural, multi-ethnic America. As a result, the prevailing image remains one of an America divided simply into Black and White, Christian and Jewish, overlooking the significant contributions that connect it to a wider world and leaving indigenous peoples nearly invisible in the cultural record.

In John Cage’s Diary: How to Improve the World (You Will Only Make Matters Worse), he noticed the absurdity that in university classrooms 200 people all read the same book, when 200 people can read 200 books. It is through repetition of a limited canon that an American identity has been instilled across 10 million square kilometres and within 340 million people. The systemic failure of the U.S. to perceive itself accurately originates in centuries of underlying prejudices about the relative values of human lives among people of differing socio-ethnic-economic identities.

These have expression in legal terms of who can or should be included as American, but a parallel history of cultural work, operating on several levels, has functionally deluded both the majority of Americans and many others to whom we have exported our self-image through our massive media output.
They don’t know the language, they don’t know the law / Yet they vote in the Country of the Free / Now the funny thing, when we start to sing / “My Country ’Tis of Thee” / None of us know the words but the Argentines, and the Portuguese, and the Greeks.

Where Do You Come From?

Edwin Pearce Christy (left), a Blackface minstrelsy star of the 19th century, and Black Bahamian immigrant Bert Williams (right)
Edwin Pearce Christy (left), a Blackface minstrelsy star of the 19th century, and Black Bahamian immigrant Bert Williams (right)
Despite periodic proclamations that the U.S. is “a nation of immigrants”, prevailing attitudes toward immigrants have fallen into three broad categories that have waxed and waned in relation to one another since the foundation of the country:

Anglo-assimilation. Immigrants should make themselves like the descendants of the British colonists of the 17th century, adopting their language, customs, and attitudes as quickly as possible, and dispensing with the vestiges of those they brought from home, thereby becoming American.

The Melting Pot. New arrivals with their own traditions and values will settle alongside native-born people, and over time, each will take on aspects of each other’s ways of being. Eventually, over generations, the blurred differences between them will result in Americanness.

Cultural plurality (multiculturalism). Cultural groups will live side by side, harmlessly retaining their own cultural specificities. Americanness will result from the creation of a functioning society by people with many ways of being.

Power dynamics were built into voting rights laws established immediately after the Constitution’s ratification. In 1790, male new arrivals who were “free” and “White” and “of good character” could vote immediately upon arrival. In some states, immigrants were initially required to own land in order to vote. Five years later, the law was revised to impose a five-year waiting period. Just three years after that, the requirement was extended to fourteen years. By 1802, however, this was deemed draconian, and the waiting period was reduced back to five years. This initial back-and-forth movement in the distribution of democratic power, along with the outright disenfranchisement of Black, Native, and female people was the baseline of the ongoing struggle of the dominant powers to retain “in” and “out” groups, while indicating a commitment to Democratic ideals embodied in the relatively egalitarian kinglessness of the Constitution and Jefferson’s assertion that “it is self-evident that all [people] are created equal.”

In the early 1920s, an American hit song was recorded by at least seven different performers in both the U.S. and U.K. expressing widespread anxiety about the perception of a threatening demographic shift. Its U.S. version began: Columbus discovered America in 1492 / Then came the English and the French, the Scotsman, and the Jew / Then came the Dutch [German] and the Irishman to help the country grow / And still they keep on coming, and now everywhere you go / It’s the Argentines and the Portuguese, the Armenians, and the Greeks. Later verses portray the exotic, dark-eyed newcomers as rent collectors, drivers of the best cars, and as overcrowding the subway. The new immigrants were described as both as a bit repulsive and replacing “us.” One verse conveys sexual anxiety about women choosing them as partners and bearing their children. Later, a grudging admiration is shown for the earnestness of the new arrivals’ determination to become American: They don’t know the language, they don’t know the law / Yet they vote in the Country of the Free / Now the funny thing, when we start to sing / “My Country ’Tis of Thee” / None of us know the words but the Argentines, and the Portuguese, and the Greeks.

In fact, the North American continent was still divided among three Empires in the 18th century—Spanish, French, and English—of whom two were Catholic. Among British settler-colonials, Catholicism was viewed as a significant problem. The 1774 British Quebec Act which gave some rights to French Catholics in British Canada was among the instigating factors of the American Revolution. “Papists” were disenfranchised from voting until the Revolutionary War. Jews, meanwhile, were banned from New France and much of the Spanish territories of North America, but Jewish congregations, derived initially in large part from small Sephardic populations originating in Holland, were established in twelve of the thirteen British colonies. By the middle of the 19th century, restrictions from holding public office and suffrage without a public declaration of faith in the Trinity were repealed gradually, state-by-state, with equal political rights established in the overwhelming majority of the country. Anti-semitism became a more significant problem in the 19th century when Jews from the Prussian and Austro-Hungarian Empires arrived en masse. Religious freedom and the separation of church and state remain more an ideal than a fact.

“Mohammedans” were a tiny minority of immigrants and remained largely covert. Approximately 100,000 Ottoman Muslims arrived between 1820 and 1920, but the overwhelming majority came in the first two decades of the 20th century. It was widely known among them that they stood a better chance at entry through the port of Boston than New York, where they were routinely turned away. A Turkish community had been established in and around Peabody, Massachusetts in the early 20th century, but they found America so inhospitable that they largely returned home in the late 1920s. The first Syrians to arrive in 1878 were the subject of immense curiosity, having come from the Holy Land, and were welcomed as highly educated Christians. But two decades later, Syrians’ racial status as “White” or “non-White,” affecting their petitions for citizenship among other legal rights, was called into question in a series of court cases, during the period 1907-1915. Their “Whiteness” was finally legally established not on visible appearance but on an invisible shared Christian cultural heritage.

Before the American Revolution, the dominant powers in Pennsylvania were Quakers, who were pacifists and therefore could not wage war on the native people of the western frontier. The Presbyterian Scots who had settled in the Ulster region of Ireland had a reputation as hardy and willing to fight, so 100,000 of them were encouraged to migrate and make their way west, where many settled in the Appalachian mountains, retaining a dismissive attitude toward the earlier colonialists on the relatively cosmopolitan east coast. The Scots-Irish culturally conservative adherence to “the old ways” and ability to survive in the difficult terrain became linked to a “God, guts, and guns” mountaineer stereotype that was subsequently embraced by a stream culture as especially American. Similarly, images of the 19th century westward “pioneer settler” expansion into the plains and beyond became associated with cowboys, denim, and the gold rush. The elements of the hillbilly image and the cowboy image were then fused and marketed in the middle of the 20th century as “Country-Western” music.

Between 1840 and 1900, five million German speakers arrived in the U.S., and by 1900, 4% of the total population of the U.S. was German-speaking. Among them were thousands of members of a religious order founded in Switzerland, whose descendants continue to this day to speak German and refuse assimilation, rejecting consumerism, individualism, and post-industrial technology. While referring to all outsiders generically as English, they live, dress, practice their faith, and organize socially much as they did nearly 300 years ago. When a wave of three million Irish Catholics arrived in the period 1840 to 1890, the established Protestant power structures reacted with violent nativism. In the major port city of Baltimore, Maryland, for instance, where Catholicism had been historically tolerated, nativists employed street gangs to terrorize immigrants and instigated citywide election-day riots from 1854 to 1858, resulting in hours of open gunfire and victories for the nativists.

Meanwhile, through the 18th and 19th centuries, the genocide of Native Americans killed 96% of the indigenous people. As Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote in his 1963 book Why We Can’t Wait, “Our nation was born in genocide when it embraced the doctrine that the original American, the Indian, was an inferior race.” He went on to point out that Americans had continued to celebrate the genocide in its myths. During the decade following World War II, a third of Hollywood’s total cinematic output were Westerns that endlessly repeated the image of the heroic settler in conflict with the forces of nature of which one was the people who lived there.
Ethnologist Frances Densmore and Mountain Chief. Photo by Harris & Ewing, Inc. 1916 (via the Library of Congress)
Ethnologist Frances Densmore and Mountain Chief. Photo by Harris & Ewing, Inc. 1916 (via the Library of Congress)

“O my America”

The language of Americans continues to include broad centuries-old categories of race expressed in terms of color. Legally these designations have been obfuscated since the passage of the 14th Amendment in the wake of the Civil War. It established that anyone born in the United States (other than Natives)—including formerly enslaved people, their descendants, and the children of immigrants whose parents had not yet been naturalized—were citizens entitled to the same legal protections. Then, the federal Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 barred people from China from entering the U.S. and denied Chinese residents from becoming citizens, justified on the notion that Chinese people were inherently monarchists and pagans and therefore unassimilable. The law was not overturned until 1943. But similarly prejudicial assumptions based on widespread ignorance of the cultures and histories of most of the world continue to be characteristics of American unease with the ever-shifting assimilation / melting pot / multiculturalism paradigms of us-and-them dynamics.

With aggressive profit-seeking Capitalism of the “robber barons” of the steel, railroad, coal, oil, and other industries, recruitment of cheap labor between 1880 and 1920 brought a major part of the 25 million people who arrived. About a third of that wave were people from southern Italy, and another third were from Eastern Europe. This demographic flood of dark-eyed, non-Protestant immigrants was what led up to the wave of xenophobic anxiety expressed in “The Argentines, the Portuguese, and the Greeks.” Legal expression followed in the adoption of the Johnson-Reed Act of 1924, which set quotas for the number of people allowed to immigrate and naturalize as citizens, based on their nation of origin. The initial numbers were derived from the census data of 1880, preceding the recent wave of Italians, Slavs, and European Jews in an overt attempt to reset the American demography to a permanently and incontestably White Anglo-Saxon Protestant country, and it largely accomplished what its authors intended. That system stayed in place for over forty years, only being replaced in 1965.



A protest song was recorded in Armenian in 1927 by Nishan Keljikian, who had arrived in 1911 in the wake of Ottoman massacres: O my America - open the closed door, / My fiancée is still on the other side! … Where did you come up with this quota? … O my America - are you the only one who doesn't get it? / The Armenian language isn't going to harm you! … When we start to speak broken Armenian, / The melting pot is ready for us. … You sent money and missionaries / You made us so “porod” / Come and be of aid to us, / We are not foreigners to you!

The “door” he refers to is that mentioned in the second stanza of “The New Colossus,” written in 1883 by the Sephardic-American poet Emma Lazarus: “Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” The Statue of Liberty, built at the height of immigration, before the quota system, and that verse from “The New Colossus” remains the key images of America as a nation of immigrants. After 1924, profound institutional preferences for certain people and certain places of origin became law, followed 1940s laws requiring registration as an alien that citizenship became a requirement to live and work among Americans. What almost no Americans now know is that preceding those laws, immigrants could and often did simply arrive. Citizenship was, essentially, optional to work, to live, to be American.
ca. 1900s family photo album, having belonged to German immigrants in Boston (via the author)
ca. 1900s family photo album, having belonged to German immigrants in Boston (via the author)

Collecting Tradition and Traditional Collecting

The study of Folklore took root among academics and scholars from many disciplines in the U.S. within a matter of decades of its formalized origins in northern Europe. Those interested in Native American cultures quickly employed the new technology of sound recording. Jesse Walter Fewkes and Frank Hamilton Cushing worked in Zuni Pueblo in present-day New Mexico, gathering sound specimens for study on wax cylinders. Benjamin Ives Gilman made cylinders at the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893 in Chicago of musicians from Fiji, Java, the Ottoman Empire, the Maghreb, and indigenous groups from the U.S. northwest and British Columbia. Columbia University in New York City — under the supervision of German-American anthropologist Franz Boas— produced many significant ethnographers.

Erika Brady’s book A Spiral Way names dozens of women who made significant contributions during the first half of the 20th century to the documentation of native musics. Few Americans are aware of the immense body of work produced by Frances Densmore, who worked for five decades recording, preserving, and analyzing native music, producing dozens of books and recordings for the Smithsonian Institution. A largely self-taught ethnomusicologist named Laura Boulton spent the second half of the 1930s recording in Africa and commercially released an album of her African recordings in 1939 and then released two albums of recordings she made in 1940 in Mexico, New Mexico, and Arizona of native performers. Boulton’s recordings remained in print and were the best and most readily available resource for hearing native musics for decades.

During the late 19th century while studying archaeological evidence of pre-colonial native life in eastern Pennsylvania, Henry Chapman Mercer noticed a broader trend of vanishing in America. Industrialization and the migration from rural agrarian life toward the manufacturing hub cities were resulting in the extinction of hand-manufacturing technology. Mercer accumulated nearly 50,000 tools, now housed and on display in the museum he built for them. Around the same time, the Bostonian linguist Francis James Child published decades of research in a five-volume anthology of 305 song texts titled English and Scottish Popular Ballads. In both cases, Mercer’s museum and Child’s ballads anthology, there is inherently something magisterial and wonder-inducing, and both stand in opposition of something else going on culturally. What examples did not survive? And what — or who — is deemed unworthy of inclusion?

Folklorists working in the Appalachian mountains later gave new meaning to Child’s masterpiece. Olivia Dame Campbell began collecting songs she noticed were similar to the Child ballads and showed them to British folklorist Cecil Sharp, resulting in the 1917 publication of their book English Folks Songs from the Southern Appalachians, demonstrating the continuity between Child’s work and the living traditions of American singers. In Child’s lifetime during the 19th century, however, the dominant American popular music were stage shows based explicitly on prejudicial stereotypes of Black people by White people. Appropriating instruments and aspects of the performance and language of Black people, minstrelsy embodied both bigoted hostility and a vaguer affection. The use of blackface in minstrelsy was a reduction of a group on the basis of skin color. The genre’s profound ubiquity and the garish stock caricatures of Black men and women remain a largely unprocessed and whitewashed context for American musicality through both the 19th and 20th centuries. The blending of groups, culturally and otherwise, that Child once described as 'races distinct in blood and history,' as he described the ethnicities of Europe, had taken its painful nascent form in minstrelsy for a century before Child’s Ballads. Although that irrevocable process continues in stages, record stores in the U.S. continue to segregate Jazz from Classical and Rock, Pop, and Country from R&B, Soul, and Hip-Hop on the basis of a presumed racial origin, and Americans remain on high alert for ongoing evidence of racism, in a state of largely sublimated grief, anger, shame, denial, and sorrow.

An unlikely candidate as successor to the academic Child as president of the American Folklore Society was John Lomax. Born in Mississippi in 1867 and raised on a farm in Texas, where he developed a strong interest in cowboy songs, Lomax’s education was hard-won. He made it to Harvard in 1906, where George Lyman Kittredge, Child’s successor there, encouraged Lomax’s song-collecting, resulting in the 1910 publication of Cowboy Songs and Other Frontier Ballads. Among those who appreciated Lomax’s book was Carl Sandburg who published The American Songbag in 1927, which included minstrel and theater songs next to Child ballads, blues, work songs, and other folk material. In 1912, Lomax was made president of the American Folklore Society. Returning to Texas in the ‘20s, Lomax worked at a bank that failed. In early 1932, he and his teenage son Alan visited the then-new Archive of American Folk Song at the Library of Congress who supported his subsequent collection of 10,000 songs from a variety of ethnic groups, including material in Spanish and French, as well as performances recorded on islands of the Caribbean. Alan Lomax’s own prolific recording and publishing work extended his father’s. A twenty-page mimeographed document produced by twenty-five-year-old Alan Lomax in 1940, “List of American Folk Songs on Commercial Records,” named 350 commercial records representing the emerging American Folk canon.

Sandburg’s American Songbag was the first exposure of the Child ballads to a hyper-literate boy in Washington state named Harry Smith. As a teenager with a strong interest in anthropology, he recorded local native performances of Lummi, Samish, and Swinomish performances and, having encountered discs by southern Black performers, began compulsively collecting records that were, he said, “exotic in relation to what was considered the world culture of high-class music.” After a year and a half studying Anthropology as an undergraduate, Smith moved in 1946 to Berkeley, California, joining its nascent experimental cinema and art scene while amassing a collection of 20,000 discs, including not only blues, hillbilly, and gospel discs but also Cajun, Trinidadian, Romanian, Irish, Mexican, and Japanese records. When he relocated to New York in 1951, he brought only about ten percent of that collection. Badly in need of money, Smith approached Moses Asch who had recently established the Folkways record label, hoping Asch would buy the collection outright. Asch declined but suggested Smith produce an album for Folkways drawn from the discs. Smith quickly produced three two-LP sets comprising 84 performances, all dubbed from commercial discs issued between 1926 and 1933. He placed five Child ballads as the opening tracks of the first volume, sequencing them in the same order in which they had appeared in Child’s books. Designed for musicologists, Smith infused it with humor, surrealism, and references to esotericism, giving it the appearance of something eternal found in the specific. It sold mainly to libraries, where it languished for several years before leftist American “folkies” noticed it and adopted it as a resource for their own repertoires. What it does not include: recordings by immigrants, Jews, and Native Americans. He considered the three-LP set of Kiowa peyote songs that he later produced for Folkways to be superior to his Anthology. “I reject,” he later said of his Anthology, “that entire approach to music. [...] something about the statute of limitations… I can no longer be held responsible for having put that thing together in the way it was put together.”
Romanian migrants ca. early 1900s. (via On the Trail of the Immigrant by Edward A. Steiner. Fleming H. Revell Company, 1906)
Romanian migrants ca. early 1900s. (via On the Trail of the Immigrant by Edward A. Steiner. Fleming H. Revell Company, 1906)

The most monocultural, monolingual period of American history

The year before Smith’s Anthology, Folkways issued the first volume of a series of two-LP sets compiled and annotated by the composer Henry Cowell, based on a class he had taught at the New School for Social Research in the early 1930s called Music of the World’s Peoples. That project originated in a fertile, visionary period of Cowell’s work coinciding with the publication of his seminal 1930 book New Musical Resources from which one can trace nearly the whole of the 20th century American musical avant garde. The Folkways approach to releasing interesting, thoughtful albums of music of extremely limited interest to the general public was to make it, sell it, and keep it in print as a kind of reference set of material for whoever might want or need it in the future.

Any serious jazz or classical musician from the 1950s and ‘60s U.S., with an interest in experiencing structures and approaches unavailable in the Western traditions could—because of Folkways—go to a well-stocked public library and hear material that positioned their own work within a broader, fully global context. Cowell’s albums and the rest of the Folkways vast “ethnic” catalog did not particularly affect America’s self-image. The label’s eventual reputation and profitability was built on Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie, and Lead Belly. Arguably more influential than Smith’s Anthology was Alan Lomax’s immensely popular 1960 book, Folk Songs of North America. Notably, a single page was given the heading “Discography” which simply makes recommendations to the reader about what to listen to. He advised against the performances of “folkniks” and toward “authentic” recordings including Smith’s set. And in big capital letters two names: LITTLE WALTER and MUDDY WATERS.

Meanwhile, British adolescents during 1954-57 adopted a kind of primitive American “jazz” that required little skill. The short-lived skiffle genre had its biggest hit with Lonnie Donegan’s version of “Rock Island Line,” a song originally recorded by John and Alan Lomax in an Arkansas prison and subsequently re-recorded by Lead Belly. Among many other teenagers, one group of working-class kids in Liverpool started a skiffle group calling themselves first the Quarrymen and then The Beatles. Following the international success of Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly, the Everly Brothers, Little Richard, etc. in 1956-59, the glamour and intensity of American rock n roll faded quickly on the charts into a three-year procession of pretty boys. Rejected by a cross-section of the youth culture in favor of music that felt more authentic — blues and folk. In 1961 and ‘62, young Americans Paul Simon and Bob Dylan found Brits including Martin Carthy, who’d been through skiffle, digging deep into old ballads. One group of middle class London record obsessives hunted for Little Walter and Muddy Waters discs, later earning a good living imitating that style and naming their band for one of Waters’ songs, The Rolling Stones. The subsequent re-importation of a cross section of American “ethnic” vernacular music by young White performers from the U.K. gave White Americans teenagers who lived in the context of racial segregation a safe experience of crossing the painful line of race without any special knowledge. Between the two world wars, jazz had made inroads through Europe and much of the Global South. While the U.S. State Department sent tours of middle-aged, middle-class Jazz Ambassadors to eastern Europe, the Near East, and Asia to demonstrate American values, the values of rock n roll – youth, economy, volume, and libidinous energy – made it to many parts of the world quickly sans government funding.

The near-universal nod of agreement toward the audio products of Tamla-Motown, Sun Records, Chess Records, etc. gave birth for at least two generations to a logical “if that, then this” aesthetic expansion. That lead to broad rear-view recognition, distribution, and appreciation of productions like the Smith Anthology, the Lomax material, and the obsessive research of several waves of more-or-less amateur record collectors whose efforts were unceasingly referential to the Chuck Berry-Elvis-Little Richard-Dylan-Beatles-Stones cataclysm of 1955-65 that ran parallel to the American Civil Rights struggle and coinciding with the last decade of the quota immigration system that had resulted in the most monocultural, monolingual period of American history. Early 20th century disc recordings proved to hold a wealth of the antecedents musics that were the building blocks of rock n roll. But when buying collections or hunting at junk sales, the material culture the collectors encountered that was not relevant to the main narrative simply went over one shoulder, like misshapen fruit. Heaps of Black preachers and jubilee quartet discs, genres that significantly outsold blues and jazz in the 1920s and ‘30s, were discarded in the search for precious Fletcher Henderson or Bix Beiderbecke records. Just as operatic 78s collectors had built aesthetic criteria around radiance, apparent ease of performance, and geographical authenticity, folk-blues-jazz collectors came to agree on the qualities of hauntedness, “heaviness,” originality or weirdness, and a sense of the performance as feeling unstaged. So long as it was in English.
ca. September 1927 self-funded independent release made in Chicago by immigrants apparently at the studio of Orlando Marsh.
ca. September 1927 self-funded independent release made in Chicago by immigrants apparently at the studio of Orlando Marsh.

“I don’t really collect Foreign.”

In a 2013 interview Dick Spottswood remembered that the Finnish researcher Pekka Gronow wrote an article around 1972 “making the case that people who enjoyed hearing backwoods hillbilly music were missing out on some things by not paying attention to early records in the [U.S.] foreign language series.” As someone already steeped in all aspects of the culture of collecting American folk music, Spottswood took that mental note from Gronow and ran with it. The Library of Congress invited him to produce a 15-LP series funded by the National Endowment for the Arts for the Bicentennial of the American Revolution. The resulting series Folk Music in America was issued from 1975 to 1981, each album themed by subject matter and drawn not only from blues and country, gospel but also Native, and immigrant performances. It omitted the singer-songwriters favored by mainstream folk aficionados. It was critically panned, and the staff at the Library, Spottswood said, “weren’t too crazy about it either and quietly let it go out of print.” It has remained unavailable for forty years. In the process of researching the series, Spottswood, with the imprimatur of the Library, was able to go into the archives of the major American record labels and found that Gronow’s hunch was, in fact, a goldmine.

In 1982, he edited a book for the Library titled Ethnic Recordings in America: A Neglected Heritage. Its first chapter showed that Gronow had by then done amazing research showing that during the period ca. 1908 to 1940, hundreds of thousands of performances in dozens of languages had been made primarily in New York City, along with many other locations, by and for the immigrants of the 1880-1920 wave. The majority of the recordings been issued by the major companies, Victor and Columbia. During the 1910s and early ‘20s, Columbia’s general English-language popular music “A” (American) series amounted to about 5,000 titles, while its general foreign-language “E” (European) series came to about 6,000 titles. More than half of the non-Classical music being released by one of the two major record companies in America was in languages other than English. By dint of his training as a librarian, his access to the remaining archives of the labels, and his access to a network of obsessive and intelligent collectors, Spottswood began diligently to gather detailed data on the foreign language material, resulting in the 1990 publication of Ethnic Music on Records: A Discography of Ethnic Recordings Produced in the United States, 1893 to 1942 which has functioned as an indispensable roadmap to all of that neglected material for anyone interested. The question then became “who is interested?”
1968 self-released LP of folk music recorded in Romania by Martin Koenig ca. 1967. (via the author)
1968 self-released LP of folk music recorded in Romania by Martin Koenig ca. 1967. (via the author)

The “hillbilly” music business and its parallel “race” category

At the peak of 20th-century U.S. immigration around 1908, both major disc companies had tested the possibility of capitalizing on the immigrants. The willingness and ability of the migrants to buy records was proven quickly. Marketing was aimed first at the largest demographic groups in the U.S. — German-speakers, then Slavs, Italians, Scandinavians, Greeks, and Mexicans — before getting around to smaller groups like Armenians, Arabs, Chinese, Albanians, Bulgarians, Romanians, etc. During this time it became clear that the label’s initial impulses to record and release material by trained, aspiring middle-class performers did not particularly reflect the wants of the immigrants who were often from poor, rural backgrounds and wanted to hear music that reminded them of life in their villages. While the relatively prestigious Victor label took fewer chances, Columbia tended to take on all comers, even soliciting churches, social societies, and wealthy individuals that they’d be willing to release discs to order for cash in advance. While many discs were issued in the U.S. that had been recorded in the various homelands, the vast majority were made by the immigrants themselves, and most of them came from regions and from social-ethnic-economic groups that would have made it impossible for them to have made recordings in their home countries.

In 1924, a series of recording technology patent expirations made it possible for many ethnic groups to set up their own little, independent companies for a few years, but the introduction of the new technology of recording with microphones in the mid-1920s made pre-microphone releases largely unmarketable. Columbia, Victor, and many other labels simply deleted all but the best-sellers from their existing back-catalogs and quickly started building new catalogs recorded with the newer, higher-fidelity “electrical process” equipment. Experiments with recording southern American music were doing well by the mid-20s, so Victor set up a mobile recording studio in a hotel on the Tennessee / Virginia border, and put out an open call for performers. The material that resulted catalyzed the “hillbilly” music business and its parallel “race” category.

The smaller label Okeh had major hits with titles like the “Okeh Laughing Record”, a 1920 recording made in Berlin that was three minutes of people laughing and became one of the best sellers in the history of records when it was issued in the U.S. in 1922. Okeh also released the first commercial recording of an African-American woman, Mamie Smith’s “Crazy Blues” in March 1920, a record that changed the world, instigating an immediate flood of fantastic Black female blues discs. In 1925, Okeh sent a scout to book-and-music store in Manhattan’s Ukrainian enclave and asked if there were any good musicians who played village music. The shop’s owner, Myron Surmach, pointed them toward a violinist named Pawlo Humeniuk, who then recorded a vignette-with-music disc called the “Ukrainian Wedding” that was runaway hit, reportedly selling about 100,000 copies – two hundred times as many as most ethnic discs were expected to sell. It spawned dozens of discs made in the same format among every Slavic language group in the U.S., building an avid record-buying base for eastern European listeners.

After the stock market crash of 1929, the Depression of the 1930s, and the increasing prevalence of radio, another radical, sudden reorganization of the business of selling recorded music in America occurred. With another quick reorganization, the major companies largely jettisoned their recording of the immigrants and consolidated and limited to sure-bet known sellers. Eastern Europeans continued to be relatively prolific on discs during the Depression, but many immigrant groups remained largely unrecorded between 1930 and the middle of World War II when another, larger wave of independent ethnic labels sprang up and ran like crazy through the 1950s and the transition to the 45 and 33 microgroove formats.

Living vernacular music of the American south

In the 2001 movie Ghost World, a curmudgeonly middle-aged collector of blues 78s has set up boxes of records at a garage sale when he encounters the main character encounters an 18 year girl. In her search for meaning and identity, she has recently had a fantastic experience of hearing an exuberant 1960s Bollywood musical number, so she asks the collector if he has any “old Indian records” for sale. At cross purposes, he replies that he “might have one Hindu 78”, but “I don’t really collect Foreign.” Well, for a long time, almost no one did. As decades came and went, the discs made by and for the immigrants who arrived during the 1900-1920 peak languished in basements and attics. By the time grandma and grandpa died in the second half of the 20th century, the old records meant almost nothing to the grandkids who’d been raised on rock n roll themselves. There was practically no collector market for them, so a lot of it was given to charity shops or just thrown away.

Record producer and collector Chris Strachwitz was — like Pekka Gronow and Dick Spottswood— someone who saw the intrinsic value of the ethnic discs as early as the 1970s. Strachwitz founded a label called Arhoolie in 1960 that was among the first and best of many independent companies to present living vernacular music of the American south. Parallel to Spottswood’s work for the Library of Congress, Strachwitz established a subsidiary label called Folklyric, which, from 1975 to 2011 reissued ethnic and mostly non-English language 78rpm-era recordings of Tex-Mex, Hawaiian, Irish-American, Ukrainian-American, Greek, Cajun, Cuban, Czech-Bohemian-Texan, etc., all with great sound and great notes. His labels’ productions, like Spottswood’s are aesthetically focused on “down-home,” unpretentious performances in styles that are more handed-down than trained. They’re now part of the Smithsonian catalog, and his collection of 125,000 Spanish-language recordings is at the University of California, Los Angeles’ Frontera Collection and almost entirely available to listen to online for free. That collection is an invaluable resource given that Spanish-language disc production in the U.S. during the first half of the 20th century was by far the greatest of any language group, outnumbering all recordings in Dutch, French, German, Italian, and Polish combined, while at present, Spanish speakers are currently under constant threat from the present administration's draconian immigration and deportation policies.

One subculture of the ongoing American vernacular music world has been that of folk dancing, which has straddled the folkie native baby boomers and the aging, dedicated descendants of immigrants from Eastern Europe. The still-running Festival record label, shop, and distribution service run in California by John Filcich has been a consistent and influential resource since its foundation in 1949. In New York, Ethel Raim and Martin Koenig became deeply drawn in the 1960s to the traditions of the Balkans. In 1968, they founded the Balkan Arts Center, later renamed the Center for Traditional Music and Dance. Raim and Koenig have been significant recordists of traditional Balkan, Eastern European, and immigrant musics, and have acted as cultural conduits to the West in producing records and films for many labels, including Nonesuch and Smithsonian. The Center’s performances, recording productions, and research archives have influenced generations of American ethnomusicologists and performers. That much of their work remains inside a relatively rarified world of specialists is not their fault.

The vagaries of fashion and commerce remain a primary driver of the stories that are told and received in American music. In the 1970s, having recently published his set of Kiowa songs on Folkways, Harry Smith was asked about his opinion of the countercultural hippie fashion of adopting aspects of Native dress. He replied simply, “I hope they buy the record.” The preconditions that made his earlier Anthology culturally resonant never occurred for non-English language musics, and neither Smith’s reputation nor the mystique of psychedelicism have led to sales of the Kiowa album. Neither has the allure of an “old, weird America” or ideals of “diversity, equity, and inclusion” lead to ongoing dissemination of Spottswood’s Folk Music in America series or widespread appreciation of Strachwitz’s non-English-language releases. U.S. headlines about raids and unlawful deportations have not sent a generation searching for identification with earlier immigrant groups. Not yet. Maybe never.
--


    Further Reading:


  1. Botsford, Florence Hudson. Botsford Collection of Folk Songs. Womans Press of the YWCA, 1921-22. reprinted by G. Schirmer, 1933
  2. Boulton, Laura. The Music Hunter: The Autobiography of a Career. Doubleday, 1969.
  3. Brady, Erika. A Spiral Way: How the Phonograph Changed Ethnography. University Press of Mississippi, Jackson, 1999.
  4. Campbell, Olive Dame and Cecil Sharp. English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians. G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1917.
  5. Child, Francis James. The English and Scottish Popular Ballads in Five Volumes. Originally published 1884-98. Reprinted by Dover, 1965.
  6. Cowell, Henry. New Musical Resources. Alfred A. Knopf, 1930. Reprinted by Cambridge University Press, 1996.
  7. Eisenberg, Evan. The Recording Angel: Explorations in Phonography. McGraw-Hill, 1987.
  8. Goldsmith, Peter D. Making People’s Music: Moe Asch and Folkways Records. Smithsonian, 1998.
  9. Greene, Victor R. A Passion for Polka: Old-Time Ethnic Music in America. University of California Press, 1992.
  10. Greene, Victor R. A Singing Ambivalence: American Immigrants between the Old World and New, 1830 - 1930. Kent State University Press, 2004.
  11. Gualtieri, Sarah M.A. Between Arab and White: Race and Ethnicity in the Early Syrian American Diaspora. University of California Press, 2009
  12. Horbal, Bogdan and Walter Maksimovich. Lemko Folk Music on Wax Cylinders (1901-1913) and American Records (1928-1930). The authors, 2008.
  13. Howard, John Tasker. Our American Music: Three Hundred Years of It. Thomas Y Crowell, 1931.
  14. Igliori, Paola. American Magus: Harry Smith, a Modern Alchemist. Inanout, 1996
  15. Kazarian, Hachig. Western Armenian Music: From Asia Minor to the United States. California State University, Fresno, 2023.
  16. Laughlin, Harry H. Immigration and Conquest. Special Committee on Immigration and Naturalization of the Chamber of Commerce of the State of New York, 1939.
  17. Lloyd, A.L. with Isabel Aretz de Ramón y Rivera. Folk Songs of the Americas. International Music Council, 1965. Republished by Oak, 1966.
  18. Lomax, Alan. Folk Songs of North America. Doubleday, 1960.
  19. Lomax, John. Cowboy Songs and Other Frontier Ballads. Macmillan, 1918.
  20. Lornell, Kip and Anne K. Rasmussen. The Music of Multicultural America: Performance, Identity, and Community in the United States. University Press of Mississippi, Jackson, 2016.
  21. Lunsford, Bret. Sounding for Harry Smith: Early Pacific Northwest Influences. Know Your Own & P.W. Elverum & Sun, 2021.
  22. Lurie, Joe Jr. Vaudeville: From the Honky-Tonks to the Palace. Henry Holt, 1953.
  23. Moore, Jerrold Northrop. Sound Revolutions: A Biography of Fred Gaisberg, Founding Father of Commerical Sound Recordings. Sanctuary Publishing, 1999.
  24. Meltzer, Richard. The Aesthetics of Rock. Something Else Press, 1970.
  25. Parker, Arthur C. The Code of Handsome Lake, the Seneca Prophet. Albany University of the State of New York, Education Department Bulletin No. 530, 1913.
  26. Petrusich, Amanda. Do Not Sell at Any Price: The Wild, Obsessive Hunt for the World’s Rarest 78rpm Records. Scribner, 2014.
  27. Sandburg, Carl. The American Songbag. Harcourt, Brace, and World, 1927
  28. Singh, Rani, editor. Think of the Self Speaking: Harry Smith, Selected Interviews. Elbow / Cityful Press, 1999.
  29. Spottswood, Richard K. Ethnic Music on Records: A Discography of Ethnic Recordings Produced in the United States, 1893 to 1942. University of Illinois Press, 1990.
  30. Spottswood, Richard K., editor. Ethnic Recordings in America: A Neglected Heritage. Library of Congress, American Folklife Center, 1982.
  31. Tosches, Nick. Country: Living Legends and Dying Metaphors in America’s Biggest Music (Revised Edition). Scribner’s, 1985.
  32. Tribe, Ivan M. Mountain Jamboree: Country Music in West Virginia. University of Kentucky Press, 1984.
  33. Welch, Charles E. Oh! Dem Golden Slippers: The Colorful Story of the Philadelphia Mummers. Thomas Nelson, 1970.
  34. Wooley, Nate, editor. Sound American, Issue Four: “What is American Music?”. Sound American, 2013.


*This article is part of the project The Sonic Turn, co-financed by the Administration of the National Cultural Fund. The project does not necessarily represent the position of the Administration of the National Cultural Fund. AFCN is not responsible for the content of the project or the way its results may be used. These are entirely the responsibility of the funding beneficiary.
About the Author

Ian Nagoski

Ian Nagoski is a music researcher and record producer in Baltimore, Maryland. For more than a decade, he has produced dozens of reissues of early 20th century recordings in languages other than English for labels including Dust-to-Digital, Tompkins Square, his own Canary Records, and others. His enthusiastic talks have been hosted at the Library of Congress in Washington D.C., the Onassis Cultural Center in Athens Greece, the University of Chicago, the Bob Dylan Center in Tulsa Oklahoma, and New York University, and he has presented his work in installation at the Museum fur Naturkunde in Berlin Germany, the Wellcome Center in London England, and the Peale Center in Baltimore Maryland. A fragment of his work is included on the MoonkArk, the first object to be permanently installed on the moon, in 2020.

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