Much of the music in this
production is drawn from the repertoire of the Comedian Harmonsists who
in the period of the play were the most popular musical group in
Germany. Between 1928 and 1935 the Comedian Harmonists toured
ceaselessly and released numerous records; their concerts were
invariably sell-outs and their reception was seldom less than
rapturous. The critics were as enthusiastic as the audiences – “The
best Jazz singers we have ever heard”, “the ultimate in Jazz singing”
are typical comments – as was the musical establishment. The group came
into existence at the beginning of 1928 through the
efforts of Harry Frommermann, a young Berlin actor, who was taken with
the sound of the Revellers, an American vocal group who sang Jazz in
precise five-part harmony. Keen to try something similar, in December
1927 Frommermann placed an advert for singers in a Berlin newspaper:
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ATTENTION!
RARE OPPORTUNITY!
Eagerly seeking professional singers (not over the age of
25) - very
musical, with beautiful sounding voices, for an outstanding new
ensemble.
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Although the subsequent
auditions were disappointing, they brought
Frommermann into contact with Robert Biberti, who turned out to be just
as enthusiastic about the Revellers, and between them they recruited
further members from the Berlin music scene.
The Comedian Harmonists’ sound was not easily created. While all
were
accomplished musicians, they were more accustomed to chorus work and
small operatic parts, and the techniques required for five-part
harmony, where no voice must overwhelm the others, took months of
rehearsal. Some of the initial members of the group proved unsuitable,
but by the summer of 1928, Frommermann had assembled the line-up which
was to achieve international fame:
Although the fledgling Comedian
Harmonists took the Revellers’ vocal style as their starting point,
they were keen not to be seen simply as imitators. Gradually they added
to their repertoire songs from a wide variety of genres. They were
eventually able to give concerts with material ranging from
masterpieces of romantic composers to the most frivolous of
contemporary pop-songs, along with folk songs and Jazz, not to mention
purely instrumental pieces in which they imitated the instruments. And
their performances were full of wit – not for nothing had impresario
Eric Charell insisted they change their original “sensible” name Melody
Makers to “something that combines comedy and harmony”. The combination
of their tongue-in-cheek approach and their musical virtuosity made
their music irresistible to the man in the street and the connoisseur
alike.
At first just performing as one item among many in variety venues, by
1930 they were giving solo concert tours, with a repertoire that
eventually included around 200 songs, over 150 of which were released
on record. They also toured extensively outside Germany.
But after five years of success came changes that were to lead to the
break-up of the group. The author of its demise was Nazi bureaucracy in
the shape of the Reichsmusikkammer (the Reich Chamber of Music), set up
in the aftermath of Hitler’s seizure of power in January 1933. From
March 1934 every practising musician had to be approved by the
Reichsmusikkammer. With three Jewish members, the Comedian Harmonists
knew they were under threat, but had some hope that their popularity
would save them. But the pressure on the group led to acrimony, as the
non-Jewish members were not prepared to forsake Germany for the
uncertainties of exile, while the Jewish members seemed to have little
choice.
After extensive correspondence, in February 1935 the Reichsmusikkammer
finally came to a decision about the group. The three Jewish members
(Frommermann, Cycowski and Collin) were banned from practising their
profession, while the non-Jewish members were told, "You are free to
pursue your musical activity with other Aryan musicians once you have
taken on a German name instead of the name Comedian Harmonists".
A few days later, on March 10 1935, Frommermann, Cycowski and Collin
slipped out of Germany on the pretence of a concert in Vienna.
The Comedian Harmonists now became two groups. One, renamed the
Meistersextett at the insistence of the Reichsmusikkammer, purged any
non-German material from its repertoire, recruited three new members
and continued performing until 1941. Initially merely criticised by the
Nazi's for "unmanly" music, the group was finally banned altogether.
The other group, again with three new members but keeping the name
Comedian Harmonists, started out more or less penniless, not to mention
stateless, but succeeded in building up a huge and enthusiastic
following all over the world. But Cycowski left in 1941 and Frommermann
was unable to keep the group going with its former success.
The reasons for their success between 1928 and 1935 were several.
Firstly, there is their obvious accomplishment as performers - the
precise synchronisation of their singing meant that every word could be
understood, even in the largest concert halls. Also, as Frommermann had
spotted, there was nothing like this in German music at the time, there
was only stiff and formal "serious" music or pop or folk song. The
breadth of their repertoire also enabled them to break down these
divisions to some extent. And although they wrote little material
themselves, Bootz and Frommermann showed great skill as arrangers,
which meant that even well-known songs seemed fresh.
Although largely forgotten in the post-war years, the Comedian
Harmonists are now recognised as a high point of the musical culture of
Germany between the wars as a recent BBC Radio 4 programme showed, and
their music is a suitable accompaniment to the story of the "little
man" in the Berlin of the 1930's.
Peter Christian.
* * * * *
Review: The Stage
This is a charming,
revue-style adaptation by Julian Forsyth of Hans Fallada’s hit novel
about a German
white-collar worker. Clive Walton plays the decent ‘little man’ who
does the right thing when his sweetly trusting girl (Sharon Small) gets
pregnant. Twice losing his job but shrinking from his mother’s seamy
lifestyle – portrayed with louche panache by Anita Dobson - they
end up in a backyard shack, ironically hoping something will turn up in
1933.
As a piece of jaunty reportage about the last days of the Weimar
republic, with sideways glances at a Berlin bordello, the sun-loving
naturist movement (featuring limber Walter Van Dyck and Kristin Marks)
and the growing hatred of the Jews, the book was serialised, filmed
twice, sold half a million copes world-wide and has just been
republished in a new translation.
Despite the considerable pleasures of Margaret Forsyth’s musical
staging with tuneful close-harmony songs in German, recreating the
sounds of the Comedian Harmonists, it is hard now to see what all the
fuss is about. Horvath documented the period more
dramatically, Brecht was
stronger on the politics, and, with the benefit of hindsight, Kander
and Ebb have shown how Berlin cabaret foreshadowed the Third Reich.
But this is an evening to celebrate the renaissance of the stylish
if homeless Greenwich Studio Theatre company, surviving litigation and
now at the start of a new collaboration with the Greenwich main house –
indeed maestro Matthew Francis puts in a brisk cameo as the harsh voice
of efficiency at Mandel’s department store, leading to our hero’s final
downfall. And among the many delights are a cleverly deployed balcony
setting by Emma Donovan, the German period feel of Beeke Roopers’
costumes and an enchanting musical ensemble. John Thaxter.