Evening Star Newspaper, August 17, 1930, Page 87

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, AUGUST 17, 1930. 15 Fortunes to Be Plucked From the Air $300 to $500 for Each Performance Not Impossible for Those Able to Meet the Exacting Demands of “Mike,” Lover of Sound Beauty, but Merciless in His Treat- ment of Those Not Knowing How to Act Before Him. BY HENRY M. NEELY, “The Old Stager.” O PROFESSIONAL entertainers with voices capable of pleasing the non- theater-going public over the air, radio today extends welcoming arms. It is crying for girls and men worth $500 a performance. This does not mean thas America lacks gifted singerS. Their numbers are legion, but among them are few who can ruffie the emotions of millions of hearers on & Nation-wide hook-up. There is, I am convinced, a great future for studios training vocalists and actors for the microphone. In some aspects their methods will be quite different from those of instructors of stage, concert and operi. performers. They will, for one thing, insist on voices low in volume, to escape the blasting that accom- panies too much input into the microphone. Then, as now, it will be realized that in radio production, as in moral guidance, the small voice may be a distinct asset, They will teach, t00, in the words of one of radio’s most famous that “the microphone loves beautiful and gentle tones—a maximum of quality with a And, finally, they will Diction, incidentally, introduces a host of new problems to be solved by the broadcasting , the feminine artist a part which ecalls for an expression of mild petulance or annoyance, she may sound ill- tempered, shrewish or violently angry, partic- ularly when the tempo is fast. She must learn to compromise—to sacrifice what the stage calls realism, if necessary, for the sake of effective Tesults. She must learn, further (with the public speaker), to exercise the most careful control of explosives and sibilants. The explosives (p, b, t, d, k, g) will blast in the microphone if uttered with the forcefulness customary on the stage or platform. The sibilants must be soft, yet sharp and clear. Unless guarded, they will produce a lisp. Repression, clarity and slow tempo are demanded in the use of both. ONE of the most difficult of all lessons at- tending the transformation from stage star to radio star consists in learning to ignore the audience in the studio while the perform- ance is being broadcast. To the artist there is an almost irresistible urge to act for those actually before her eyes rather than for the unseen and unseeing millions at the other end of the hook-up, The temptation is, of course, natural; it is what the stage-trained actress has been educated to do. Yet if she yields the effect can be disastrous. She reverts to stage technique. She must try to forget the studio audience completely, to concentrate on her radio public. Even the newcomer to radio production quickly realizes this. When Jeritza sang her first solo into the microphone, she not only di- rected that the studio be cleared of all but the announcer and the musicians accompany- ing her, but insisted that curtains be drawn across soundproof windows in the rear of the room through which spectators might look. “The man at the control board was advised to try to keep out of the range of her vision. Other artists, while dreading a studio audi- ence, appear to gain confidence from the pres- ence in the room of persons very close and dear to them. When Galli Curci was on the air, she kept her eyes constantly on Homer Samuel, her husband and accompanist. Fokina, the dancer, held the hand of her husband, Fokine, through her spoken broadcast. Tamaki Miura, the Japanese prima donna, was accompanied through her appearance in & National Grand Opera Company broadcast by Although so many stage stars making their first radio broadcasts object to studio audiences, it is, paradoxically, the absence of an audience type to which they are accustomed--that 50 great an ordeal, Some- 1R Peacock sang his familiar “Song of Love,” from “Blossom Time,” in his first radio appearance. At the conclusion of an excellent performance he sat down in the studio facing the wall Eager to offer congratulations, I walked over and placed my hand on his shoulder from be- hind. Frantically he leaped to his feet. “Don't do that!” he cried. “My nerves are still on edge. I had no idea what an experience this could be. It was torture.” Experience, of course, soon remedies “mike” fright. The performer learns not only to fol- low the director’s suggestions while broadcast- ing, but even to endure a gentle touch on the head or shoulders directing the voice at a better angle into the microphone. To me it is a con- stant source of amazement that a brilliant raido artist, in the midst of a difficult song, can bear this unexpected touch without per- mitting it to affect in the slightest degree the quality of the performance. Always it is an impressive esample of the control of tempera- ment demanded of any girl or youth ambitious for a successful radio career. 'I‘Othepaflomerwhohutheaumy,the training and the temperament demanded for success in radio entertainment, the new profession offers generous rewards. A star with a contract calling for 52 weekly per- formances may receive $300 to $500 for each appearance. ¥or individual appearances, apart from the contract, the compensation is still popularity of many radio For operatic and musical-comedy stars the rates are, of course, greater. A famous artist may receive from $1,500 up to anything the to go on the air, fearing it would hurt Today, probably the majority are before the microphone. They that radio appearances can help both Jessica Dragonette and “The Old Singer” do their stuff before the “mike” im an inimitable manner, their voices low but rich in quality. > quickly and accurately and to fill in as actor. ‘There is little time for rehearsal of even the most difficult programs. On one occasion when we were preparing to revive a musical comedy on the air, with Frank Daniels in the ocast, the famous comedian askgd me how many rehearsals were contemplated. I replied that we hoped to find time for three. “But, my dear fellow,” he cried aghast, that's preposterous! Why, we rehearsed daily for weeks and even then our first night was disappointing.” As it happened, our radio cast Creating the atmosphere of a subway rush before the microphone. In many scenes it is necessary for t broadcast realistically. artists to have certain properties and settings to| held only two rehearsals and then put on a performance which clicked beautifully with a Nation-wide audience and delighted even the amazed star himself. The fact that every night is “first night” on the radio contributes greatly to the difficulties and the interest of such presentations. On the stage, first night frequently becomes al- He is allowed, let us say, a half hour on the air. If he exceeds that limit, either his act is cut off peremptorily without its conclusion or another act is robbed of its time. If he fine ishes too soon he is responsible for one of the worst of radio sins—a period of silence on the air. To avoid these errors he times both rehearsal and actual production with a stop- watch. ‘HE time limit represents, of course, only one of the problems of radio production. The director in charge must watch that the artists maintain the proper position before the microphone. He must be on the alert for sige nals from the control! room and ready to transe mit them to the performers. He is responsible for proper co-ordination between the artist and the orchestra leader. > His greatest concern, however, is tNe radio audience. Despite the limitations of a vehicle which offers no opportunity for the familiar stage effects, the radio presentation must please the biggest and most hetrogeneous array of lis- teners ever known. With only sound to work with, it must create the illusions of visual beauty and background. Many of the methods employed are both interesting and ingenious. Producers have learned, for example, that the presentation of a stage act on the air requires more than mere curtailment. It demands ate mosphere, which in turn must be created in the minds of the hearers. An illuminating ex- ample of how this is achieved is seen in the method of producing old-fashioned melodramas used by one prominent station. It presents them apparently on a Mississippi River show boat. Before the play begins the radio audie ence hears the boat arrive at a landing, hears the barker’s ballyhoo, the ticket and songbook sales, the orchestra tuning up, the stage sne< nouncer of the show. Then throughout the production it hears hisses and applause from the seats, and at its conclusion the comments of the show-boat audience as it Jeaves. Pere haps 10 minutes is spent in building up ate mosphere, but this is what puts the aet across. Without that atmosphere the production, lack- ing lights, scenery and motion, might seem flat and unreal, as have many others attempted without the necessary auditory background. Like the actor, the production director must guard against the unconscious influence wielded by the small audiences that often watch radio the hook-up, the entire illusion would be de~ stroyed for thousands of listeners. In some presentations the director can use the studio audience, but the unseen hearers must be first told of its presence, so that the laughter and applause do not sound an incongruous and disturbing note over the air.