Press Clippings for the week ending
Saturday, 11 May 2002

A random selection of cuttings
from newspapers and magazines

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An Opinion of Music Halls, 1867

‘MUSIC HALLS.
‘No institution has ever proved more thoroughly false to its early promise than has the Music Hall.
‘We were told, when the idea came first into notice, that its encouragement would assuredly exercise a beneficial influence over the progress of music amongst the lower classes; that many people, who now spend the hours of the night in dissolute indulgence at the public-house, would, in time, be weaned from their evil doings, and that the souls of our less wealthy fellow creatures would, in general terms, be ennobled through the gentle agency of art! In fact we were told all sorts of things, which perhaps, we did not believe, and which have, at all events, been proved by time to be not less fallacious than the great majority of predictions.
‘When the Canterbury Music Hall [in Upper Marsh, Lambeth, London, (opened 17 May 1852),] came prominently before the pubic, and set an example which has now been followed all over London - you may say all over England - the principal attraction which was put forward to catch the multitude was a musical selection from some well-known operatic work. The performance, we are free to confess, was somewhat coarse, but it was not wanting in a certain brilliancy and dash, and as there were one or two singers of passable merit engaged for these selections, we have no doubt but that with care and judgment the character of the entertainment might have been raised, and the taste of the public, as a natural consequence, improved.
‘Destiny has, however, willed it otherwise, and the Music Hall, as it at present stands, is mischievous to the art which it pretends to uphold. Operatic selections, it is true, are still to be heard, but they are, as a rule, so badly sung and vulgarly accompanied, that it were better for the cause of art that they should be omitted, and, in many cases, they appear to have died away - unheeded and unregretted - from the programme.
‘Nothing is listened to no-a-days but the so-called "comic songs," and, in sober earnestness, we must express our astonishment that human beings, endowed with the ordinary gift of reason, should be found to go night after night in order to witness such humiliating exhibitions. It is quite impossible to name anything equal to the stupidity of these comic songs, unless, indeed, it be their vulgarity. A man appears on the platform, dressed in outlandish clothes, and ornamented with whiskers of ferocious length and hideous hue, and procees to sing, verse after verse, of pointless twaddle, interspersed with a blatant "chorus," in which the audience is requested to join. The audience obligingly consents, and each member of it contributes, to the general harmony, a verse of the tune which he happens to know best. It not unfrequently occurs that one of these humorous efforts is received with perfect silence, and under such circumstances, it might not unreasonably be supposed that the artist would refrain, from motives of delicacy, from making his re-appearance before an audience to whom his talents do not appear to have afforded unqualified satisfaction. We are all, however, liable to be deceived, and no matter how slender the amount of the success achieved, the gentleman who occupies the chair will announce, in stentorian accents, that "Mr. So-and-So will oblige again" - which he accordingly proceeds to do, in whiskers more alarming, and vestments, if possible, more hideous than on the previous occasion. This species of musical treadmill is continued until the exhausted singer has sung four songs, when (if he sternly refuses to sing any more) he is set free, and allowed to exercise, over other Music Halls, the improving influence of his talent.
'The are numerous other details connected with the entertainments offered to the public at Music Halls, which call for remark, but to allude to them, in the present notice, would take us beyond the limits of the space at our disposal. In another article [see below] we shall draw attention to the "serio-comic lady," whose performances are, on the whole, more maddening than those which we have endeavoured to describe.’
(The Tomahawk, London, Saturday, 14 September 1867, p.201b)

Mlle. Theresa

Mlle. Thérésa (Emma Valadon, 1837-1913)
the popular French café-concert singer
(photo: Gaston & Mathieu, Paris, circa 1867)

Further Remarks on Music Halls, 1867

‘MUSIC HALLS. Second Notice.
‘In the article on this subject which appeared in our impression of last week [see above], we took occasion to deplore the non-fulfilment of the rich promises which were held out when Music Halls first came before the notice of the public. We also bestowed a passing glance on the "comic singer," whose dreary and heart-breaking performances form the staple of the Music Hall entertainment as it stands at present. It might be fancied, after our remarks of last week, that in hearing a song from one of these hapless sons of mirth we must have reached the lowest pitch of jocular destitution; but this is not so, for, however deep the pain we endure from the male comedian, the suffering which we experience at the hands of the "serio-comic lady" is even harder to bear. Her very title is assuredly a misnomer, for there is nought of seriousness in her performance, whilst as for comedy - Heaven save the mark! - she knows not the meaning of the word! She appears on the platform and, with saucy bearing and shrill voice, howls forth some ditty about "cards in the Guards," or some "swell in Pall Mall," or, perhaps, she will tell you a domestic romance in which omnibus conductors, or policemen, or costermongers, form the important features. Wanting, alike, in point, grace, or humour, these songs can have no purpose save to indulge the degraded taste of the majority of those who nightly fill the Music Halls; amongst such of the audience as have been attracted in the idea that they would hear a rational performance, there can be but one feeling - pity.
‘We would gladly refrain from attacking women, but in this case, we cannot be silent, for we are satisfied that these songs are not only very stupid but extremely mischievous in their results, and those who sing them must not claim at our hands any consideration on account of that sex, which they have outraged by such unseemly and unwomanly performances. Grace is a woman, like hope in the human breast, should linger when all else is gone, and it is because these "serio-comic ladies" have no vestige of feminine refinement that we condemn them hopelessly and unreservedly.
‘Whilst on this subject, we are reminded, perhaps by contrast, of Madlle. Theresa, the diva of the Alcazar, in Paris, and, so far as regards pointlessness and stupidity, we are bound in truth to say that our remarks have no reference to her; she possesses that which, in a different walk of life, might have enabled her to obtain a high position as an artist. As it is, she is only a Music Hall singer - but such a one! No actor can see her, no musician can hear her, without marvelling at the rare amount of talent evinced by her. That her sphere of art is a low one - perhaps the lowest - no one will deny, but her pre-eminence in that sphere is also undeniable, and, at the risk of shocking some of our readers, we venture to think that many queens of song now before the public, whose names are cherished by lovers of the opera, will find themselves matched and outdone before Madlle. Theresa meets her equal.
‘But let us leave the heroine of the Alcazar. In England there are numerous representatives of her faults, but we shall seek in vain for anyone who can afford the least idea of her merits. We had a twofold object in alluding to the Parisian Café Chantant, and, although the French Music Hall is liable to reproach in certain matters, we think that some things might with advantage be transplanted in England. Imprimis you will find in most cases, a trim little orchestra of efficient performers, who rattle merrily through one or two overtures, a valse, or a march, and so forth, and who, if need be, are fit to play a better class of music in fair style. There are generally singers of some pretension who are equal to the proper performance of romances and operatic airs, and, in short, the class of entertainment is such as reasonable folks may take pleasure in hearing. We wish that as much could be said for our Music Halls! Until, however, the entire organisation of these places of amusement is remodelled, and until decent music and fair cultivation take the ground which is now occupied by buffoonery and vulgarity, no good result may be hoped for.
‘We have spoken our mind pretty plainly in this matter, and there are two and possibly more of these Music Halls which may not justly come under the strictures which we have passed upon the institutions in general. Of the exceptions which strike us, the Alhambra [Leicester Square], with its well-mounted ballets and capital scenery, may be cited as one, whilst the music rooms known as Evans’s, in Covent Garden, constitutes the other. In the latter case, the audience consists of men alone, and the entertainment is made up of songs, glees, and part songs, executed by a well-trained choir, in which will be found boys with fresh and lusty voices which it does one’s heart good to hear. There was, it is true, a funereal comedian there, whose name, we fancy, was Mr. Harry Sidney [otherwise Harry Sydney, 1825-1870, a popular comic singer of the day], but if we are right, he as taken his talents elsewhere, and at Evans’s the visitor will now chance to hear good music well executed. The establishment is admirably conducted, and as for the beaming proprietor, may his shadow never be less, and may his hospitable snuff-box never be empty!
‘It will be seen that we have not touched upon the more serious question of the evil influence exercised by the majority of Music Halls as they are now conducted, and we have purposely refrained from doing so. If the morality of a Briton is to be attacked, the best course is to make, in the first place, an appeal to his common sense. We have endeavoured to point out the utter stupidity and worthlessness of the entertainments which are to be heard at these places all over London, and it remains for the public to contribute its quota towards a general reformation, so that, in time, the Music Hall may really furnish a home for music, instead of being, as at present, an insult to the art from which it has filched the name.’
(The Tomahawk, London, Saturday, 21 September 1867, pp.209b-210a)

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The death of Alfred Young, Bournemouth, 18 March 1883

‘Alfred Young passed away last Sunday at Bournemouth. For some time past, an asthmatic malady had seized him with a firm grip, and to this he succumbed at last. Mr. Young was a well-known and much-esteemed manager at one or two of our [London] music-halls, and with the Metropolitan [Edgware Road, Paddington] he was connected for a considerable time. He was an admirable man for the front of the house, for he was too much of a gentleman to willingly give offence to the humblest, and he always said the right sort of thing to the aristocratic folks. Those persons who can call to mind the music-halls of something like a quarter of a century ago, when "operatic selections" were more in fashion than they are now, will perhaps remember Alfred Young in the possession of a pretty tenor voice, which he wielded with taste and skill. It may be said of him that he gave a tone of respectability to every institution with which he was associated, and that he died at his home, where he was so well beloved.’
(The Entr’acte, London, Saturday, 24 March 1883, p.4a)

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Smashed top hats at theatres, London, 1904

‘The Tip-Up Seat.
‘Dear Sir, ‘I have often been annoyed when sitting in the dress circle or stalls of a theatre by having my hat smashed by the "tip-up seat." These seats are undoubtedly a great convenience, but they are very hard on silk hats. Perhaps it will be suggested that silk hats are out of place in the dress circle or stalls, but I happen to have a preference for the comfortable "topper," and I think it should be worthy of some consideration at the hands of the managers, not to mention the feet of the audiences.
‘Yours truly,
‘John Otley.
‘Uxbridge Road, [London] W.’
(‘Correspondence,’ The Playgoer, London, February 1904, p.113a)

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© John Culme, 2002