Evening star., 1921-12-04

name for the peculiar sort of stage
fright that artists are sometimes seized
with when they come here to work."
1t was not before ! was actually
standing before my own little tin horn
that understood the full significance
of what "horn fever" could be.
There is something singularly cold and
indomitable about facing mechanical
audience that is to take and keep for
ever your every note. and-this Is the
terrible part of it-your every fault.
The young general director. assisted
by chief recorder and variety OF
aide-de-camps that suddenly appeared
from nowhere. gave me my first in
structions how to sing into the horn. ]
had had no idea that its technique was
SO extensive. i listened patiently, won
dering to myself whether the trepidation
that had begun to steal through my
veins could be classed with horn
fever"
"On your low tones put your voice
literally into the very mouth of the
horn" my instructor was saying, land
on big tones lean away. You will learn
how to do that with experience. We
might as well begin to make first test
record"
Pasternack clambered onto low
throne built alongside the recording
booth and murmured a few words
through a little window into the fast
ness inside.
he tapped MS music rack and his
baton described time. The orchestra
burst into the Introductory phrase
ever so noisily. l did not see how pos
sibly l would ever be able to sing above
its racket! A huge horn swung in the
direction Of the orchestra to catch their
resounding. efforts. stood before a
much smaller horn and hummed lightly
the song 1 would have to sing. At my
right, before still another little horn, a
sylophone player using bells banged a
mighty obbligato with all his strength.
e *
WE had hardly finished before Mr.
" Pasternack was down among US
suggesting few changes in orches-
tration and giving me a few final
hints. Then. in a flash. he was back
on his throne, his baton poised in
mid -air.
"S-s-s-sh" he whispered. and nut a
finger on his lips to betoken silence
"Test record now"
A double buzz sounded atop the re-
cording booth. obviously signal from
within. Pasternack's baton hung
waiting for immediate action.
Suddenly a loud, scratching noise
came to US through the horns. The
recording instrument was on!
A single buzz! The baton fell and
the orchestra burst once more into
the opening passage of the song. We
were doing zone Faro" an aria from
the opera "Orfeo." by Gluck.
1 waited timorously for my cue
| and when it came I sang my very
heart into the horn. 1t was strange
SO strange, singing to an audience
that wasn't there. and that was never
! theless the largest audience 1 had
even sung to.
had been told to watch my breath
| ing with ever so much care, because
the least noise of any kind would
| register faithfully, and an uncon.
sciously. noisy intake of breath would
sound like steamboat whistle obbli-
cato when the record was played.
| Never on the concert or opera stage
had such fear of possible fault OBJ
sessed me as I sang. There is nc
more trying experience to an artist
than attempting to please the little
god of music that turks in the square
tin horn of a recording machine. And
at the time of doing it it seems a
somewhat childish performance. II
was not until an odd experience be-
| fell me years later that l fully real
ized how far from being childish the
performance is and how truly gigantic
| it is in its significance and import.
1 had been singing in Denver, and
wanted to take advantage of my be-
ing in that part of the country to see
the Indian pueblos of New Mexico
which have always had great fasci-
nation for me since singing shane,
wis" ! moved south to the ancien,
villages of the mountainous desert
country. Among them was Taos,
| picturesque and isolated nest of In
dian dwellings, seemingly endles.
miles from any railroad. It was ar
outpost Of our American civilization
! the mecca of few health or color.
| seeking painter-folk, the sanctuary
Of the dying tribe of Redmen. Naughty
but not very clean specimens OF In.
| dian manhood stalked the sun-baked
= ortuoms streets clad in vivid colorS