Music by Gramophone
- cheriewilliams2
- Jan 11
- 2 min read
I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the research for my soon-to-be-released novel, A Paper Balloon. Because it’s set in a later decade than my previous books, I found myself diving headfirst into the culture of 1910s America. The deeper I went, the more fascinating it became—clothing styles, hairstyles, everyday slang, and the ways people moved from place to place all began to paint a vivid picture of the era.
Perhaps my curiosity was sparked by the fact that my grandparents grew up during that time. Or maybe it’s my long-standing fascination with trains, early airplanes, and antique automobiles.
Yet of all my discoveries, nothing immersed me in the early twentieth century quite like the music. Listening to it felt like stepping through a doorway in time, as if the past had reached out and pulled me in.
Today, we live in an age of technology that can reproduce sound with astonishing precision—sometimes even better than a live performance. Technicians can mix and polish recordings, remove imperfections, and enhance every note. Artists can even sing trios or quartets entirely on their own.
But in the early 1900s, the Victrola—also known as the gramophone—was just coming into its own. Middle-class families were beginning to bring these machines into their homes, marveling at the novelty of recorded sound. Of course, a Victrola was of little use without a growing collection of records. The music pressed onto those shellac discs often sounded thin and scratchy, yet it offered something remarkable for the time: the ability to own music and listen to it whenever one wished.
Back then, recorded sound was possible only in a narrow band of the audible sound range. It could only be done in one take, with no editing possible. Imagine all the performers gathering around an enormous recording horn that served as a microphone. They had to sing or play as loudly as possible to get the music recorded, so the results might sound forced. Considering all the limitations, I’m amazed they did as well as they did.
I researched the popular tunes of the era. The song I like best, and that fits in with the theme of The Paper Balloon, is a 1910 nod to the Wright Brothers’ early planes. It’s called, Come Josephine in My Flying Machine. I worked it into the plot several times. Listening to that recording immersed me in the culture more deeply than any other research I did. I love its tinny tones and innocent lyrics—for instance, when the girl with the Betty Boop voice warns the pilot, “Don’t hit the moon!”
You can listen to the old RCA recording yourself. Several versions are available on YouTube. Go ahead, treat yourself! Here’s a link to my favorite:
The Paper Balloon will be released soon, but the exact date will depend on variables now at work. I’ll keep you posted.
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