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WESTERN COMMENT
A Corpse That Won't Stay Dead
REVIEW OFFICE, CHICAGO, I I I . , NOVEMBER 28,
1928.
anyone still remember the Penny Arcade which delighted the
youth of twenty-five years ago? New York still has one or two of
them left. Although the glory has departed they
Twenty-
a r e ^ u t t ^ e p a j e s h a dows of their once gaudy
selves. But anyone who remembers the thrills he
Y
once got from peeping through a narrow hole and
turning a handle,, while the fluttering figures of distressingly infan-
tile comedies and disillusionizing glimpse of long-skirted ladies dis-
playing elaborately lacy lingeries passed before his youthful eyes,
will feel a twinge of something not far from regret. Alas, the
sophisticated youth of to-day, with its motor cars, its movies al-
ready become talkies, its airplanes and now its television, will never
know anything so simple, primitive or satisfying as the crude Penny
Arcade was to a generation innocent of post-war disillusionments.
Does anyone remember? For if one does, he will surely not have
forgotten the famous scene of the wake, which every one of the
thousands of these pleasure places kept on view all the year around.
It was the scene where the corpse, duly laid out and surrounded by
sorrowing and bibulous mourners, suddenly comes to life and in-
sists upon getting up, helping himself to a drink and taking a lively
part in the proceedings. Did any of the youths who spent their
pennies to view these dim absurdities ever foresee that years later, as
disillusionized piano men, they might find themselves assisting at an-
other wake that refuses to carry on according to rule, surrounding
another corpse that refuses to stay dead? If any of them ever had
such a flash of prophetic insight, he was truly inspired; for just this
is what is happening today.
DOES
FIVE years ago the player-piano was in poor health. Three years
ago the trade doctors gave it but a few months to live. Two years
ago it was reported to be sinking fast. One year
Patient
a g 0 t h e last fond farewells were said and this year
and
the patient was definitely pronounced dead. Since
Doctors
then the obituaries have been written and pub-
lished, the flowers have been sent and all arrangements have been
made for the waking. Unfortunately, however, just when the
mourners had composed their faces into a decent appearance of woe.
horrid rumors were heard. It was whispered that the corpse had
been seen to move. That disturbing person, Corley Gibson, had
been observed hanging about with a pulmotor. Another practitioner
from over the Rhine (they say his name is Canfield) had been seen
through the window administering a dose of Cincinnati malt. A
Gulbransen Baby had been noticed, with its proud parents. And
lastly, those Pratt-Read persons were actually going about saying
that the talk of death is all nonsense and that the corpse is not only
alive but preparing to stand up before the wake begins and do a
four-part, embellished and orchestrated, arrangement of "Sweet
Adeline," with both pedals working at top speed and the music roll
galloping along fourteen feet to the minute. In a word, the ques-
tion of the last five years . . when will the player-piano die
and of what ? . . is in a fair way to be answered by the simple state-
ment that the player-piano is not dead; and in fact positively re-
fuses to die.
buy these instruments only because they cannot afford reproducing
pianos. Mr. Canfield, against all the learned hypotheses of the trade
spokesmen, against all the propaganda and all the whispers, has
been making a success of introducing the good old straight player-
piano to that part of the population which likes to call itself the
hundred per cent American. And, if one is to judge by the de-
scription he gives to his operations, his secret is simple. He
himself knows what the player piano will do. He himself
insists that his salesmen shall learn to produce satisfactory
music from player-pianos before attempting to sell them. He
imparts, and makes his salesmen also impart, to his prospects just
enough information, brief but accurate, to enable any intelligent
person to understand that the player-piano is played by means of
the pedals, and that the acquirement of a good pedal technic leads
to as much satisfaction on the owner's part as the knowledge that
he has a good putting method gives to the golf fiend. Thus Mr.
Canfield, putting aside the arguments and the tears, insists that it
is rather absurd to talk of the player-piano's death to one who,
like himself, is daily, as it were, taking lunch and sharing dividends
tvith it.
Corley Gibson has been telling the dealers for a year past
that the player-piano is not dead. He and his technical men, Gut-
sohn, lajoie and the others, have been proving that this is no idle
talk for they have steadily been going forward with new plans and
new ideas. Again, what shall we say of the Gulbransen plant,
whence grand and upright player-pianos continue to pour forth
in a steady stream? And, lastly, what explanation is to be made
of the activity of the Pratt Read people, now coming forward with
a campaign to popularize an entirely new idea in player construc-
tion, a player action entirely above the keyboard, stack, bellows,
motor controls and all? Moves like this are not made on the
business chessboard unless there is some pretty good reason for
them. In fact, it becomes more and more difficult not to believe
that what the doctors said was death was only a fainting fit, or
perhaps another case of temporarily passing out after an unusually
heavy dose of Prosperity corn-liquor.
So much for what Mrs. Malaprop used to call the alligator. For
the meaning- surely is simple enough. In The Review recently was
a long and elaborate story about the doings of Wal-
Canfield ,
ter Canfield of Cincinnati, a piano dealer who has
of
been
selling player-pianos right along, is still sell-
Cincinnati
ing them and expects to continue doing so. And
to whom is he selling them ? It appears that he is not selling player-
pianos merely to foreign-speaking inhabitants of Cincinnati who
10
No, the player-piano is not dead. But that is not the fault of the
trade. The trade has done its best to kill the player-piano. The
trade has succeeded in blackjacking, though not
ne
,
,
quite
in killing it. For the player-piano is a
TT
Hundred
r .
• , - , . ,
T .
Thousand
tough customer. It has a vitality which astounds
the most optimistic admirer. Why is it that it
refuses to die when half the trade is engaged in shooting it full of
holes, and the other half is wishing, under the breath, that the pesky
thing may die and thus forever solve the problem of its merchan-
dising? Why? Because the player-piano enables you and me to
play the piano. That is why. The statement is old, crude and
bald ; but it happens to be true. And truth is inconveniently im-
mortal. The player-piano ought never to have been allowed to
get into its present low state of health; and if dealers had had a
grain of sense they would never have permitted themselves to
think that the gap between the straight piano and the high-grade
reproducer could ever be filled by anything save the pedal player.
To-day a dealer like Canfield can sell player-pianos to a public
that actually knows almost nothing about them; and this after
they have been on the market for twenty-five years! That fact is
not to the credit of the trade's wisdom or its common sense; but'
because it happens to be a fact, one ought to ponder it rather seri-
ously. One hundred thousand more units may be added to 1929's
output if the trade will condescend once more to turn its head in
the old direction. And there are guides enough ready to point out
the true road,
W. B. W.