I recently started reading ‘Playback: From the Victrola to Mp3, 100 Years of Music, Machines, and Money‘ by Mark Coleman. As the title implies, it covers the innovations that have allowed us to record and playback sound over the last 100 years. In researching another essay that I haven’t posted here yet, I stumbled across a technology that isn’t mentioned in the book, but purports to be one of the earliest methods for recording a musical performance. This technology is the Reproducing Piano.
It’s important to make a distinction between the reproducing piano and its more famous cousin the player piano, as they are very different beasts. The player piano’s rolls are cut by hand to play notes at a fixed dynamic with little if any expression or variation. The resulting playback sounds stiff and mechanical, fittingly. The reproducing piano used a much more complicated system involving a mechanism that punched the actions of a human player into a blank roll as they played, effectively recording the performance by not only punching a hole according to the note being played, but also by recording the velocity with which the performer struck the keys, their expression, and pedaling. This innovation was developed by the German Welte piano Company:
”In 1895 the Welte firm developed a successful paper roll operated player piano, one of the first such devices to be made on a commercial basis. This early player piano was entirely mechanical. The paper was punched out by hand using a piece of printed sheet music as a guide. There was no attempt at expression other than maximum or minimum loudness. What the pianos lacked in subtlety of dynamics they compensated for in volume. But the Weltes were true artists; they were convinced that the public would buy better reproduction if it could be perfected.”
”So, in the early 1900′s, Edwin Welte and his associate Karl Bockisch developed a machine known as a ‘Vorsetzer.’ This complex device had felt covered ‘fingers,’ one for each piano key. It was placed in front of a piano’s keyboard (The name ‘Vorsetzer’ means ‘Sitter in front of’ in German), the same position occupied by the pianist. [When a roll was played], it actuated the mechanisms within the Vorsetzer in such a way that these ‘fingers’ came down and depressed the keys with the same dynamics and in the same order as the original artist’s performance. The mechanism also faithfully reproduced the artist’s use of piano pedals. By this method, a performance could actually be played back from a master roll, much as we do with our modern tape recorders today.”
”Every precaution was taken to get conditions as nearly equal as possible to the original performance. The wooden fingers of the Vorsetzer were made the same length as a man’s fingers from the pivot of his wrist to the tips, so that the same power of touch would produce the same dynamic strength on the piano as the artist when he struck the keys during the making of the master roll.”
I’ll be quoting liberally from pages 324-327 of ‘Encyclopedia of Automatic Musical Instruments‘ by Q. David Bowers, a 1600 page tome that documents all manner of turn-of-the-century mechanized music. The book is overflowing with black and white photographs of instruments you never knew existed, and is punctuated with surprisingly engaging narrative passages. I liked it so much that I bought myself a copy.
A photo of several ‘recorded’ Welte rolls is shown below:
To produce these rolls, four different pianists were asked to play the same piece to illustrate the Welte’s ability to capture variation and nuance. Once their invention was perfected, the Welte company contracted many famous players to record rolls. I am ignorant of which among the laundry list of pianists to have been recorded are important, but the fact that even I recognized several names says something, I suppose. Bowers’ encyclopedia collects correspondance and recollections of those attending these earliest ‘recording sessions.’ Debussy was reportedly very tempermental at his session, declaring that “There have only been produced so far in the world two great musicians: Beethoven and me!”
The importance of the Welte rolls is easily seen – they allow us to experience the performances of composers and pianists, many who never lived to be recorded by other means.
The most interesting part of this story is how the rolls came to be heard again. The rolls were in Germany during World War II, not exactly the safest place for fragile, rare art. The following is a passage by Richard C. Simonten:
”As soon as hostilities ended after World War II, I sent a letter to the last known address of the [Welte] firm in Freiburg, Germany. I eagerly awaited the developments.
”After some months I recieved a despondent reply from Edwin Welte who told me that the factory had been destroyed and that there were no rolls available, but that he had in his posession, in his home, about sixteen organ rolls which he would be glad to send to me in exchange for food. They were literally starving and would be most happy to convert these rolls into some form that they could eat. I was equally happy to send them food for the rolls. In due course the rolls were shipped, and I recieved them. I was so touched by their plight that I continued to send food, and from that humble beginning a warm friendship developed.”
”After many months Edwin Welte told me of the work done in gathering together the vast library of the playing of famous pianists, and he impressed upon me the great value of the unique master roll library which was wrapped in mothballs and put away. Both he and Karl bockisch were elderly men, there were no heirs to the business, the plant was totally destroyed, and it looked as if future generations would be forever denied the privelege of hearing the great artists they had recorded. Few people on this side of the ATlantic knew that thee master rolls existed. In fact, the era of the reproducing piano had been largely forgotten.”
”Edwin Welte sent me sone old literature which contained photographs of the artists and signed testimonials to the fact that the artists themselves had actually recorded and commented on the faithful reproduction of the Welte instruments. It presented a very imposing roster of famous artists and composers and showed promises of being musically important. I realized immediately that these recordings had commercial possibilities. However, I first needed the answer to one major question: Was the artistry, even after being recorded on these specially prepared master rolls, worthy of the men who performed, or was it lacking in subtlety and reminiscent of the old parlor player piano?”
”Proving this point was not simple. The only conclusive means was to be able to hear the actual reproduction of some of the masters and let experts decide. The only place I knew of where they could be heard was in Germany, and then only under very difficult conditions.”
Reproducing Piano Espionage!
The following is an extensive passage describing the recovery of the Welte master rolls in post-war Germany. This is probably of interest to no one but myself, but I was really excited when I found it. Rife with suspense and intrigue!
”There followed a furious exchange of letters across the atlantic. In searching for a solution the fact came to light that the local radio broadcasting station in Friedburg had a magnetophon, or the original prewar German magnetic tape recorder which was later copied very widely by American manufacturers. But there was no recording tape available in all of Germany. The answer was to mail some tape from here and pray that it would fit. The Magnetophon, however, was in the broadcasting station as a permanent fixture, and the piano with its associated reproducing apparatus was in Edwin Welte’s home. This impasse was solved by suggesting that a telephone line connect the two, and not meeting with any apparent opposition from the French occupation officials, it was done on a temporary basis.”
”Soon all arrangements were completed and, after many exasperating delays, the day set for the demonstration recording arrived. Fourteen selections were reproduced on the Welte apparatus, sent over the telephone line to the Magnetophon in the station and recorded in a form that could be sent to the United States to serve as a listening test to evaluate the musical performance. All that remained was to get the tapes from the station inot my hands.”
”The next day Edwin Welte called on the French Commandant to ask for the tapes so he could send them to his American friend who was eagerly awaiting them. He was told that the French government had officially seized the tapes, and that they never intended that he should have them, much less send them to America – of all places.”
”Of great assistance at this time was a young Ukranian displaced person who had been a German prisoner of war. After his capture on the Russian front, he was sent to Friedburg to teach languages at Friedburg University. Mr. Welte met him there – where both had been assigned duties by Hitler’s government. Since the war this young man had been employed by the Radio station. The French officer evidently was not aware that he and Edwin Welte had been good friends. The young Ukranian was the first to tell Welte that the French officer was not going to release the recorded tapes as they appeared to have value and the officer hoped to sell them.”
”One night the tapes in a wrapped package were left on the officer’s desk, and at closing time our friend hid himself in a closet so as to be inside after the French civilian supervisors had locked the door behind them.”
”With only the dim moonlight filtering in, he opened the package on the commandant’s desk, carefully preserving the cord and paper. With some other rolls of magnetic tape that I had sent by regular mail, he set about recording duplicates. There was only time to record five of the selections as his friend, a fellow displaced person, was waiting to take the 2:40 a.m. train back to Frankfurt and had agreed to take the package into the American zone and airmail it to me.”
”He worked up until the last minute, magnetically spoiled the recordings on the originals so they could’nt be used, and then he carefully repacked them so as to make it appear as if [the spoiling] had happened in transit. With tape hidden in a rag under his shirt, he climbed over the transom, kept out of sight by staying in the back alleys until he got where his friend was waiting, and together they went to the railway station. In a dark section along the way they transferred the package into the other man’s clothing. THere were always occupation officials at the train station to open all baggage and examine travel documents. It wouldn’t do to have the tape in evidence, as too many questions would be asked. As it was, the tape got to Frankfurt, in the U.S. Zone, without further incident. It was soon across the Atlantic and in my hands.”
”Almost without pausing I had the tapes reproduced and conventional acetate records made from them. The instant I heard the first reproduction I realized that the artistry was excellent, even though the multiple re-recording had introduced some pitch variation and distortion. This didn’t matter as it meant the master rolls were good, and I could go back to them, and with proper recording apparatus, get good records. This would be as good as the actual playing of the great composers and artists themselves.”
”The next step was to plan a trip to Europe and seek permission to enter the occupied zones. My wife and I arranged for the care of our two small children, and on September 28th we sailed on the Queen Elizabeth.”
”Our first sight of Freiburg was one which we shall never forget. The vista of a demolished city is one which an American cannot concieve of unless he has seen it firsthand. The first thig we saw from the railroad station was the twisted wreckage of the once awesome Welte factory. While our bags were being taken through customs and subjected to inspection by the French officials I strolled over to the edge of the platform and saw the remains of the many buildings which had once been the stronghold of the Welte empire, virtually a dynasty in the musical history of the world. All that remained were heaps of brick, twisted steel, and shells of buildings that could never be used again.”
”In the latter part of World War II when the allies bombed freiburg (Freiburg was not a strategic target; it was a university town that was bombed in retaliation for an earlier German raid on the English university town of Coventry) the Welte factory and 65% of the city was reduced to nothing but useless piles of smoking rubble. One of the machines for playing the Welte master rolls was destroyed in the factory, but fortunately the other had been dismantled and stored in a safe place. There was only one man alive who knew how it was constructed and how it should be operated. This man was Karl Bockisch, who at this time was in his 70′s. Because of the proximity of the Welte factory to the railroad station, a prime target, the priceless master rolls had been transferred to a parsonage in the Black Forest and had been hidden in a barn. There they remained until October, 1948, when we came to Germany.”
”Once we were set up and recording we worked tirelessly many hours a day. Often we would do a recording as many as five or six times because somehting had interrupted usor because a noise had ruined the sound. One time the distraction might be an airplane, another time the crackling of the wood fire in the little stove in the corner of the room. Of course, all of the beautiful homes like Edwin Weltes had central heating, but during the postwar hardship there was no caol available. They were allowed a few cords of wood to last all winter. To use the small supply sparingly, Welte and others set up little stoves in one or two selected rooms and fashioned makeshift chimneys. We had to keep the stoves going because it was the only way we could keep the piano in tune. Sometimes in the middle of a recording the power would suddenly fail for a few seconds, or else the frequency would shift and change the speed of our machine. Often we did a recording over and over until it was as near to perfection as possible.”
How does it work?
I’m glad you asked! The key ingredient is Mercury. The piano used to record the performances was unique in that it had a trough of mercury beneath its keyboard and pedals. Attached to each key and pedal was a carbon rod. The mercury and rod were used as an electric switch, and depending on the depth the carbon was plunged into the mercury, the electrical current was varied. This current was used to actuate inked rubber wheels (one for each key / pedal) onto a master roll. These master rolls were used to cut rolls for Welte-Mignon reproducing pianos, an example of which is shown below (Clicking the image will open a higher quality .pdf document):
The piece is Chopin’s Etude in F Major. The key and expression information on these playback rolls were read using a pneumatic system similar to conventional player pianos. Anyone who has ever sequenced MIDI will see a striking similarity to these almost 100 year-old rolls.
As with any technological invention, the reproducing piano is not without its naysayers. L. Douglas Henderson has written a summary of his complaints with the reproducing piano here. His central complaint is that player pianos or pionolas, which were typically foot-pumped, were capable of expression as long as they were operated by a skilled interpreter, or ‘pianolist:’
”Essentially, a pedal player action required one to use the treadles and the hand controls — which were levers or buttons — to INTERPRET the perforated rolls. The accomplished intepreter was called a “Player-Pianist”, “Playerist” and most frequently a “Pianolist”.
”A “Pianolist” can modify and otherwise influence the tempo and pedal shadings of a perforated arrangement, but he/she is working within limits established by the music roll Arranger, who defines the striking by the control of the perforation lengths … and who also establishes the paper travel speed limits for the performance.”
”A “Reproducing” piano merely uses marginal perforations to imitate in a generalized manner the SAME DYNAMICS which a human interpreter would add to the Player-Piano’s performance. It’s not unlike the automatic transmission of an automobile, such as Hydra-Matic™, which “does the shifting of gears” as one operates the accelerator pedal.”
Clearly Mr. Henderson misses the point that a player piano roll with the addition of a human interpreter – whose relative skill effects the resultant playback – hardly constitutes a recorded performance. Much of the other criticism directed at reproducing pianos can be attributed to the many imitators who marketed reproducing pianos in the wake of Welte’s innovation. They payed a royalty for the ‘Welte Mechanism’ on each piano they produced, but used it only in theory, constructing their own mechanism by which to record and reproduce the performances. A further explanation for the ill will directed at these instruments may stem from their relative scarcity in working order – discovering a completely working original instrument is so unlikely that collectors classify them only as restored or unrestored.
Recordings of these rolls being reproduced on a well-maintained Reproducing piano are now available on CD. This is obviously a niche market, so they tend to be rather expensive. You can listen to samples from two cds, representing two types of reproducing piano rolls on Amazon.com:
‘Paderewski on Welte-Mignon Rolls.’
‘Gershwin plays Gershwin,’ recorded using Duo-Art rolls.
Related Links