Tin Pan Alley

More Information Than A Casual Musician Would Want...

First, here are some of those positive statements that are so much fun to try to refute:

          Few things have affected American music as has Tin Pan Alley.  (The largest current owners of music still fight over rights to some of those songs.)

          Few musical things are so incorrectly identified as Tin Pan Alley. (It has become a slang word for a street address.)

          Few musical things are as easily explained as Tin Pan Alley.  Pretty much the only thing one needs to know about Tin Pan Alley is that it was a music factory...more correctly, perhaps, a "song factory."

That’s it!

Where was this place – specifically?

From where did the term come?

And how did it "manufacture" songs?

The relevance of Tin Pan Alley to American music will continue as long as great American songs are enjoyed...particularly any before 1939. Many popular songs of today are recycled songs with origins in Tin Pan Alley. Additionally, the music publishing industry today functions pretty much along the same lines as was developed in the days of Tin Pan Alley.

Specifically, Tin Pan Alley was on the lower part of Manhattan. It was on both sides of West 28^th Street between Broadway on the east and Sixth Avenue on the west – and it really was an alley at one time. This can be seen by looking at the spacing of the streets in that area on a current map of Manhattan.

This Mecca of song publishers was only a little over 180 yards long with perhaps another 70 yards of north-south spillover onto Broadway around the corner to the east. This was the place where the music publishers would concentrate and that concentration would be the key to their success. 

The first music publisher that moved there was M. Witmark & Sons in 1893 and they were followed by Thomas Edison’s office. Supposedly, Edison’s people shot movies on the roof. (The motion picture industry started in NYC very early with Lasky Studios out on Long Island. And the American Mutoscope studio was at 13^th and Broadway. All this was before anyone was turning orange groves into Holly Wood Land on the west coast.)

An early view of #45 28^th Street showing Whitney Warner on the second floor, and William Morris in the lower right.

By 1895, because of the general population density of NYC and their desire for entertainment, 28^th Street became the center of  American music publication. By 1900, 28^th Street had a large number of publishers and everything that went with that business.

Before this period, there were music publishers in Boston, Baltimore, Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, New Orleans, and St. Louis. These provided sheet music for all the many local  users…churches, schools, and professional and amateur bands. Also, they met the great demand for instruction books for those places where there were few music teachers. We have a tendency to considerably underestimate the consumption of sheet music by the home musicians then. The student, even in general schooling, had broader music knowledge than would the student or average adult of today.

This musically magic 28^th Street had four-story stone buildings on both sides. Any noise generated in these non-air-conditioned buildings would reverberate off the walls and the paved street and the sidewalks. When there were several pianos being played vigorously (because that was the style of some of the music) it was very loud at street level. Additionally, these pianos would be playing on hardwood floors and with different rhythms and in assorted keys...and there was also the singing. Before amplification, the tenor and soprano were the preferred voices because of their carrying ability...and carry they did...right through the large open windows to the building across the street and there the sound was scattered equally among the other voices and all the accompanying pianos...and the carriages were then horse-drawn and many wheels were steel rimmed and were pulled by heavy iron-shod horses on brick streets...and people speaking on the street had to be heard above all this noise. And to state once again -- the street was narrow.

The name of this general area came about when in 1899, the New York Herald paid a sometimes composer, Monroe Rosenfeld, to do a few articles about the new, booming music business on 28^th Street. Rosenfeld visited the 28^th Street offices of nearly all publishers and composers, and in one of Rosenfeld’s articles, he likened the street cacophony to the beating on tin pans; he coined the phrase "Tin Pan Alley."

It was during these years that the minstrel, which had been the backbone of traveling entertainment in America, was displaced by vaudeville. Vaudeville was sort of an off-shoot of variety and music halls. Variety, like burlesque, could be raw and sacrilegious; however, Tony Pastor visualized a cleaned up version of variety which could run all day in a series of acts and a mom could stop in with the kids, watch the show, and not turn red from blue material.

The creed of vaudeville was that if you did not like what you were seeing, just sit and relax for 10 minutes and something else would come on the stage. A sweet, sentimental song sung by sisters might be followed by Ching Ling and her twirling Asians.

It was said that if you could spin anything fast enough, you were vaudeville material. In some cases, the twirling thing was a young child, doubled over and holding his legs with his arms, and the father would lay on his back and using his feet in the air, spin the child at 300 rpm. But vaudeville also had a plethora of singers and dancers and they needed music. They were a great boon to the publishing houses because many people would be hearing their songs and after the show the audience would walk out trying to remember the second line. The sheet music for the song might very well be seen for sale in the drug store display window next door to the theater.

The business plan of Tin Pan Alley was simple; figure out what the Americans wanted to hear before they knew they wanted to hear it, and then have the song in print immediately. This anticipation was important. Once the song was written, it had to be heard and that is where the song pluggers came in...or went out.

There was no radio, so rather than wait for a potential buyer to magically appear, they would take the sheet music and go anywhere they could sit down at a piano. They would badger performers until they agreed to hear it; they would hawk their wares to theater managers and directors, producers – anyone who could put in a good word for the song.

The pluggers went to music halls, saloons, and cafes, and they set themselves up at every theater every night. They would enter the many recurring amateur competitions and plug a song...pretending to be the fellow next door who had just rented a piano and was learning to play. Sing-alongs were popular in music halls and sheets of the lyrics might be handed out there. If everyone was singing the song, what better way of plugging/promoting a song can there be? Sheet music could be sold on the spot.

One of the pluggers in 1904 was 16-year-old Irving Berlin. Berlin was an experienced hawker of songs because he had gone each night from saloon to saloon to sing the popular songs he had heard on the streets. And during the day, he would sing these songs while selling newspapers. This got him extra attention; he sold more newspapers and he got a few more pennies for his singing. Berlin developed a good ear for what sort of songs the public wanted to hear. (He was also small and cute.)  Early on, he worked for Harry Von Tilzer, a prominent name in song writing and publishing. Berlin, in his whole long, long life (he died at 101 after composing 1,500 songs) could play the piano but in one key -- F#.

Another early plugger of songs was George Gershwin.  It is hard to imagine Gershwin plugging others’ songs, yet for a while, that is how he supported himself.

And all that talent and effort was being used to just sell a piece of sheet music.

This promotion business cost money but the money could prove well-spent if the song was heard and performed by the right person at the right place. Tin Pan Alley made its money off sheet music. And it was indeed a lucrative market. One might not think so in today's musical illiteracy but that was a different time, when the song mattered more than the performer’s delivery.

After the War Between the States, over 25,000 new pianos were sold a year. There is no way of knowing how many used ones were being passed around, but by 1887, more than 500,000 kids were taking piano lessons. Even in 1848 NYC, pianos were being rented for $2 and $3 a month.

A piano was a status symbol in a home and these homes had open doors and large windows. In residential areas and small towns, a piano would be heard on the street and for several houses down the block. Violins were being sold and other kids were taking violin lessons because in the evening, a little family music was considered a wholesome and sophisticated thing to enjoy. Mothers would entertain her friends and have her kid demonstrate his/her genius. The unwritten law was the same then as now, "I will sit and pretend your kid is talented if you will sit and pretend that my kid is, as well." The kids had better do a good job or there might be more piano practice for the kid next week.

These kids (and adults) learned music...how to read music...and there was a tremendous market for sheet music. In WWI, when a young soldier went on furlough, he had better return with copies of the latest sheet music. And where would these soldiers play it? In the men’s clubs, bars, saloons, and churches found anywhere along their march.

Some song pluggers were traveling salesmen who would show samples of new sheet music and try to convince a store in Gary, Indiana, that they needed more sheet music...no matter how many trombones they had. These hawkers of happy tunes would sing the latest songs (of the sheet music they were selling) and if there was a piano handy, so much the better. Sheet music was being displayed in racks at many types of stores, not just in music stores. (The 1978 BBC production "Pennies From Heaven" dealt with such a traveling sheet music salesman. This story was subsequently presented {badly} in a 1981 MGM film.)

As with any industry, a new product needed to go through a specific procedure for it to make money for the company. There was little personal sentiment in the songwriters then; they wrote and published what they thought would sell. They were professionals.

There would be a market survey to determine what they were selling, what the closest competition was selling, and if there was any new music on the immediate horizon. Not overlooked in all this were current events. A mine disaster, sinking ship, or train wreck -- anything that would provide the inspiration for a song --  and the sheet music would quickly be in the rack. The idea of promoting a song and not spreading the sheet music to the most likely market was unheard of.

There were songs about Lucky Lindy and a dance (Lindy Hop) created then and this was all based on Lindbergh’s then-recent flight. Naturally, there was a song about the loss of Amelia Earhart...but no dance.

Once a targeted audience or topic was determined, the in-house writers were directed to generate songs of that sort, and the files were searched to see if they had purchased the rights to a song in anticipation of this future market, or if they had a good song that could be updated.

Once the song was written, sometimes the next day, it was tested in-house, and then on a few select individuals whose market savvy could be trusted. (Later, these people would be called "agents.") If the song inspired little response, it was just put away for another outing when the market might have changed.  After all, the company had spent money on it.  Maybe they could recoup the loss later.

If the song was thought salable, it was published and the pluggers and promoters were turned loose on the listening and performing public. Additionally, the publishers were perfectly capable of overstating a song’s appeal when advertising in the newspapers.

And into these publishing houses came a steady stream of the initial consumers: the performers. They were looking to buy a potential hit just as intently as some composer/lyricist/publisher was looking to sell one. When there were no sure consensus, the publisher might call in one of his writers to modify a song for the performer. Many great songs had been done this way.

"School Days" was done by Gus Edwards, a writer and plugger in 1907 for a vaudeville act.  He helped more young people become stars than anyone.   "School Days" sold 3 million copies.

A vaudevillian might come in to a publisher and say that he needs a real tear-jerker in the middle of the second act. An absolute heart-breaker...about a little girl who had lost her puppy...or better, maybe a sad mother – or something. The writer might say, "I got just what you want! I have been saving it just for a show like you are talking about! This is fantastic! This song will have tears flowing like Niagara and the sobbing will be heard a block away. What publicity! I can hardly get through the song myself without breaking down...but it is at my apartment. Come back in the morning." The writer spends the night polishing an old idea and the song becomes a classic. It could be a song that the current-day, misinformed considers a great social comment on the futility of war...the greatest anti-war song ever written..."I Didn’t Raise My Boy To Be A Soldier"..."If mothers had their way, there would be no wars today..."

Or a vaudevillian might come in and say that he wanted a good old flag-waving song for his finale. This would be when the actors would be unfurling American flags and waving them around to the music and they might go marching and singing from the stage right up the aisles. Some writer might have enthusiastically clapped his hands and said in faux disbelief, "I got just what you want! It is spectacular! The audience will follow right behind you, singing all the way to the street! What publicity! ...but this song is at home. I have been saving it for just this sort of show! Come back in the morning." The writer would then go home and spend the night writing the song and a sale was made the next day. The song might be "It Is Time For Every Boy To Be A Soldier."

A retired vaudevillian was interviewed late in his life and the young interviewer asked something about his "art." The vaudevillian said, "Art? It wasn’t about art. It was about supper!"

In some cases, rather than charge the performer some varying rate based on degree of usage, the publisher might pay the performer, or give him some little gift to promote the song. In other cases, some song might not look like a hit, but the performer might decide that it would be better than one of the other songs he had been using in his act. And another sale was made.

Where Tin Pan Alley was concentrated, vaudeville was wide-spread. There were several large vaudeville companies and each had its own contracted circuits. Sometimes the circuits could cross-play but not often.  Generally, those owning the circuits also owned the theaters and they had the vaudeville troop under exclusive contract. An overly enterprising vaudevillian might perform for another company but may very well find that he would have to leave the business when no one would hire him after that. He was being "disrespectful" of those who had been paying him to start with.

Much sheet music would have a photo or an art work illustration of the performer most closely associated with the song.  In this case, magnetic, charismatic, Adele Rowland.

When the vaudevillians performed in NYC, they would make the rounds of the publishing houses to see what might be of use to them. Maybe a couple of single acts had become friendly and wanted to form a quartet…or as likely, a married team broke up both the marriage and the team at the same time. They would both need new material.

Those vaudevillians playing early on the bill (the headliners played next to last) might have to negotiate the price for the exclusive use of a song, while the headliner might be given consideration for a contract to perform a specific song at every showing in every town. Nothing would promote the sale of sheet music like having a star perform the song from coast-to-coast -- and north-to-south. Few towns were too small for vaudeville. Vaudeville routinely played the Hippodrome…but maybe not the famous one in NYC.  There was a vaudeville Hippodrome in Waco, Texas.  And not every Palace was the NYC top of the bill.

As popular as vaudeville performers could make a song, the most profit always came from the general sector and this meant songs that the average musician and singer could do. Initially, the melodramatic ballads could move an audience, but these songs had to be balanced with comic songs for each to have its desired effect on the listener.

"Popular" was the operative word, and the song writers had to produce what the public wanted to hear…and produce it soon enough that the public could enjoy it before something new came along.

And what came along were ragtime music and the cakewalk dance. In spite of the churches’ condemnation, America was doing a lot of dancing. First, at the formal balls, waltzes were the preferred dance, but then came the ragtime numbers and cakewalks.

Blues became more popular as both ethnic and commercial music: however, it was difficult to translate such grace and "blue" notes and keys to simple little blobs on paper that the student of popular music could easily handle. Consequently, Tin Pan Alley just cleaned the music up and formalized it so the public did not know that they were not playing "the real thing." This means that the commercialization of ethnic American folk music started a long time before the Kingston Trio and Skiffle.

Publishers were always ready to hear a good commercial song and unknown composers and lyricists might have produced just such a hit. Such unknowns could be given a choice…no publication or have one of the publisher’s known songwriters be listed as co-composer. This would enhance the possibility of a sale and consequently, make the publishing firm more money. In some cases, the song was purchased outright with the publishing firm retaining all income since they were assuming all risks for printing, promotion, and distribution. As songwriters became known by the public, it might be more cost-effective for the publishing house to hire them to compose songs exclusively for their company.

Some of the songwriters began to understood the publishing business and they, like Harry Von Tilzer, and certainly the prolific Irving Berlin, formed their own publishing companies.

Van and Schenck promoting and being promoted on sheet music by Albert Von Tilzer, Harry's younger brother.

Harry started out selling songs for one or two dollars each but in 1898, he sold his "My Old New Hampshire Home" for $15. This was quite a coup for the 26-year-old songwriter, but when the song became a hit and publisher sold over 2 million sheet music copies, Harry decided he could actually make a living at the business.  But not if he sold the songs to some one else. He became a partner in a publishing house and while there wrote "A Bird In A Gilded Cage." He then formed his own publishing company. With his younger brother, Albert, they wrote some of the most popular songs in America. Harry and Albert Von Tilzer started life named Gummbinsky but shortened that to an Americanized "Gumm," and then to Von Tilzer. (Judy Garland was related to them as a Gumm.)

Sheet music was the name of the game and I have collected such sheet music for a long time. It takes me ages to go through an "antique mall." I think my favorite publisher is Leo Feist. He was a corset salesman who could also write a cute song. In 1897, he decided to broaden his ventures since the corset sales was not narrowing American waists much any more, so he rented a room at 1227 Broadway and signed on a partner who had a piano. He went into business by publishing his first song: "Does True Love Ever Run Smooth."

He was successful and the business that was started in one room expanded until the company occupied two complete buildings.

Leo Feist publishing company to the left.

His motto, printed on all his sheet music, was, "You can’t go wrong with any Feist song." On my copy of a favorite song, "In the Land of Beginning Again" (1918) he listed different printings: for Band, 25¢; Orchestra, 25¢; and Men’s Quartette, 10¢.  On the sheet music he promoted his other music forms: "This composition may also be had for your Talking Machine or Player Piano."

On the back side of the sheet music was an advertisement for "Songs of Cheer": 15¢ for "64 pages of Patriotic, Love, and Cheer Songs." Feist published many small sized song books... "The Dealer who sold you this copy of music will also be glad to sell you any or all of the above wonderful Pocket Size Song Folios."

Note the photograph on the cover. This was a little early (1918) for studio photography on the cover of sheet music. There might be a small photo of the promoting artist on a cover but the covers were generally rather attractive and modern (for the period) artwork. Much sheet music is worthy of framing and displaying.

When discussing history, everyone likes a firm date for a beginning and ending. For Tin Pan Alley, the beginning is pretty obvious – 1873 – but the ending is more difficult to establish. It had burst on the scene and then over the years just fizzled out. Some people like 1930, the start of the Depression, as a good ending date and there are reasons to think this, but Tin Pan Alley was still influencing music when Rock and Roll came along -- maybe not on 28^th Street, but the people who had worked that street still had their finger on the musical pulse of America…and their attention can be traced to Rock and Roll.

Tin Pan Alley was a factory and factories crank out products for a profit. Art for art’s sake is a nice thought but at one time it had to reflect the desires of the buying public. It was like this until the arrival of socialized art, that is, art supported by (unwilling) tax payers.  This occurred with the creation of the National Endowment for the Arts in 1965. Then it became a required tax burden rather than one serving the artistic preference of the people.

Many of the songs that went through that earlier music mill were of the moon, June, spoon, insipid and maudlin variety and they seem to refer to a world at peace and in love with itself…implying an innocent time. They were called "The Gay Nineties" and those times were much different from "The Gay Nineties Part Two": the 1990s. Music in the 1990s was anything but sweet.  Popular music was disturbing by design, upsetting on purpose, generally antisocial, and presented in an ugly manner.

In an earlier time, people wanted a simple tune they could whistle, with words they could remember, and when singing them, they did not want to deal in heavy issues and songs with profound messages.

Many in modern times have tried to make some of those early song have a social conscience. They did not. They were to make money by pleasing the listener. They had their sad songs, for sure, more sad than many today, but the songs were presented without guile and received as entertainment…they were not social comment, or worse, criticism and social instruction.

The golden period of the ballad did exist but not at the exclusion of other music. The public had a wider taste than just the ballad and in only 10 years, nearly 2,000 ragtime songs were published on Tin Pan Alley. That is not 2,000 copies of sheet music but 2,000 different songs all selling varying amounts of sheet music, depending on the song’s popularity…and the ease of play. Scott Joplin had his rags and W.C. Handy had his blues. In 1917, Louis Armstrong's music took over on Tin Pan Alley. (Yes, that long ago.)   This was the beginning of the 1920 Jazz Age…and then the familiar Broadway musical was born. It was the enthusiastic child from sundry marriages and the breeding of all that preceded it – minstrel, variety, burlesque, music hall, vaudeville, revues, and every combination thereof.

With the increasing popularity of radio, folk/hillbilly/country music (by any name) became popular in the 1930 rural areas.  These areas were getting commercial music for the first time by radio instead of from church, church socials, and the occasional juke joint. Union halls were also a source of non-church musical outlets.

And in the urban areas, large and small, there were the sweet dance bands of the 1930s. The musicians in these bands played together all the time and they were for dancing.   Nothing should happen that would distract the dancers.  The music was predictable as dance music should be.  This sameness drove some of the more creative musicians crazy and when they formed their own bands, they set loose their own idea of what music should sound like.

These new bands, with the influence of revolutionary musicians and composers such as Cole Porter and Hoagy Carmichael, took the music of the sweet bands into the era of the big swing bands where there were popular soloists.  Some of these soloists were band musicians, some were band vocalists. These bands were mainly for dancing but they also performed as concert bands when the dancers would rather stop dancing and crowd the bandstand to hear the featured band vocalist. Now, we have progressed into the early 1940s and yet, the business of Tin Pan Alley continued but not necessarily on 28^th Street.

And where did it all go?

Music is the voice of the people, and the creators of the voice moved with the industry that it was supporting. The theater district stayed but vaudeville was dying and it was going to be replaced by  moving, talking – and singing – cinema.