From Photographs Taken Aboard the Ocean Survey Vessel (OSV) Bold, National Archives Identifier 5998403

Over the past eighteen months, the staff and I at the National Archives have been working diligently to develop our next Strategic Plan. Many meetings, long conversations, Town Halls, thoughtful emails, and loads of feedback from staff and stakeholders have gone into the refinement of the strategy that will be the roadmap for our Agency through 2018. Along the way, I have encouraged staff to stretch their vision and to be bold.

Our Plan has four goals:

Make Access Happen: Increasingly this means digital, online access.

Connect with Customers: Wherever they are, however they want it.

Maximize NARA’s Value to the Nation: Through the use and reuse of our digital content.

Build Our Future through Our People: The most important goal of all.

Over the next couple of weeks I will be blogging on each of the goals to let you in on some of the ideas behind each of them. In the meantime, take a look at our new Strategic Plan.… [ Read all ]

From the October, 1944 WQXR Program Guide:

The success which has attended the presentation on Broadway of new forms of music of great composers such as Bizet, Johann Strauss and Grieg has aroused a certain amount of resentment among music purists. As one of them remarked about Carmen Jones: “The orchestration of Bizet’s music was expert and adequate, but I still prefer my Bizet straight, if you don’t mind.”

This led us to go to the sources and ask first hand from one of the successful adapters of the music of great composers what he had in mind and how he handled the score which he transformed. Mr. Robert Russell Bennett prepared the score for Carmen Jones. He is famous both as a composer and as an orchestrator. While much of his work has been with so-called “popular music,” he is equally distinguished in classical music.

When we reported to him that he had been charged with changing the score of Bizet’s Carmen he replied emphatically the entire score of Carmen Jones is played from the original photostat copy of Bizet’s own orchestration. “Although I was not in any sense of the word, a transcriber of Bizet’s music in the score of Carmen Jones,” he said, “the charge that I had tampered with it sent me back to re-examine my treatment of the wonderful music. Bar by bar, I had tried to find where I had inadvertently might have altered Bizet’s colors of his orchestral intentions. After and honest search, I am unable to accuse myself of any infidelity to his brilliant and highly dramatic instrumentation. 

“The only changes I made, and which I am led to suppose were the basis of the purists’ criticism, had but one purpose: to enhance the musical effect in relation to the libretto, the scenery, the lights, the number of people on the stage, and to all the other elements which create the total effect of opera.

“The recitative passages were eliminated. But that isn’t as great a liberty as may be supposed. Carmen was originally written with spoken dialogue scenes between the arias that were sung. The work was not converted to a ‘grand opera’ till after Bizet’s death. The music set to dialogue is not his music, but that of Ernest Guiraud. Next, the Gypsy Dance of Scene Three was turned into a drum dance, which enabled us to feature Cosy Cole’s magnificent drumming on the stage. In this intense, using all the devices at my command , I tried faithfully to retain every effect of Bizet’s original sound, amplifying and high-pointing all such passages as would have been simply submerged by the excitement of drums and dancers on the stage without some further instrumental strength in the orchestra. In the original, at the end of the last act, the trumpets, trombones and percussion players are sent on the stage to make a brass band in the bull fight arena. The difference in staging Carmen Jones made it possible to leave the full brass choir in the pit, thereby improving the orchestral unity and sonority immensely.”

We asked Mr. Bennett how old the practice was of altering and transcribing music by great composers.

“The custom is so old that it would be hard to trace its origin,” he replied. “Johann Sebastian Bach himself was a prolific transcriber of his own and others works. He cut, changed and altered at will, and often made the original sources quite unrecognizable. Add to this the fact that when he lived, the art of music was largely improvisatory, and you knock out the purists’ last prop. Yet, today, even the most reverential subscriber of Bach’s music automatically courts adverse critical opinion. The Don’t-Touch-Bach boys even object to some of Stokowski’s orchestral arrangements of Bach’s fugues and chorales. Incidentally, the score of the opera Boris Godunoff, by Mussorgsky, was substantially changed and rewritten by his friend Rimsky-Korsakoff, and more recently by Shostakovich.

“I need hardly remind you that, in other fields, Mr. William Shakespeare was accused of having done little more than rewrite plays which some of his contemporaries or predecessors had attempted to produce.”

“is it true,” we asked Mr. Bennett, “that Carmen Jones has been performed more often than Bizet’s original opera of Carmen?”

“Certainly that is true here in New York,” he replied. “One can argue all night as to whether this is good or bad. But theater is theater, and music is music, and twain at least attempt to meet , sometimes rather curiously dressed in the effort to create an intelligible art-form in which drama and music are both understandable.

“As a matter of fact, that is one of the services which a serious transcriber renders. He is able to make a masterpiece more valuable by setting it beautifully for another medium than the one for which it was written. When this is well done, it is an important function in popularizing good music. I don’t mean to suggest that it is necessary to renovate or modernize the presentation of all classical music, but I do maintain that good adaptations successfully carried out so as to have a wide popular appeal have an important part in the development of musical appreciation in this country.”

                                                                                    Handbill for the December, 1943 Broadway production of “CARMEN JONES” at the Broadway Theatre where it ran for 502 performances. (WQXR Archive Collections)

Last week we presented an allegory for retrieving audio, where we compared it to listening to a distant radio station. Of course, that is only half of what audio archivists do: the other half is to try to extend the reach of that signal into the future.

Let us then modify our original allegory. Imagine that, instead of you trying to catch a particular broadcast, you find a note next to your clock radio:

INTERESTED IN SATURDAY AFTERNOON 105.9 SHOW
PLEASE HELP WITH RECEPTION
—CLAUDE ZENON¹

There are two ways to fulfill this request: you could either try to ensure that the original signal reaches Claude’s receiver, or you could capture that signal, boost it, and re-transmit it with your own antenna. Once again the two key considerations in your decision will be the quality of the signal at your location and your available resources. Let’s look at each in turn, since this time we are looking at them from the other side.

1. Quality of present signal

If you think the signal will reach Claude’s receiver, you may choose to do no more than tell Claude how to retrieve it from his location (telling him, for example, to what frequency he needs to tune his dial). You could also take extra steps to safeguard the signal’s path, for example by removing obstacles between the original transmitter and Claude’s location, or by extending its range through other, more exotic means.

Audio archivists perform an equivalent task by trying to extend the life of the physical media in their collections. Although all things must end, proper care can extend the life of most carriers by a significant amount —and we are constantly learning how to do it better.

2. Resources

If you have enough resources or are not sure the signal will make it to Claude’s receiver, you may want to boost the signal you receive and send it his way. This is a two-step process: you first capture the signal and then you re-transmit it. Capturing the signal is tricky and, if not done carefully, can significantly degrade what you send to Claude. But once you capture it, other broadcasting avenues open up: you can boost the signal, perhaps use a different frequency, or send it via cable; even convert it to digital information. Rebroadcasting the signal will allow it to reach further, but at the price of using more resources; and unfortunately, more robust processes (such as digital) tend to be more expensive. (It is also worth noting that, since Claude is further from the original broadcaster, he will likely never get to hear the signal as well as you do)

Audio archivists, concerned with the longevity of their media, engage in an equivalent process called reformatting, where they transfer a signal from one carrier to another to extend its practical life. Until fairly recently this was an analog process, where, say, audio from a fragile disc was transferred to a longer-lasting tape. Nowadays it is a digital process, since digit

al signals are potentially more reliable and easier to access —although the safekeeping of those signals seems to be more expensive, at least for now.

Location, location, receiver

You have probably noticed that your decision of whether to extend or retransmit the signal would be much easier if you knew where Claude is, or at least how far from you. Unfortunately, to keep our allegory honest, you would not know. This means that, given limited resources, you will have to guess by how much you need to boost the signal to ensure it reaches Claude.

It would also be very helpful to know what kind of receiver Claude has; but, again, you would not know. If you knew that he has, or could easily find (or build) the same kind of receiver you have, you may choose to just let the signal through. Otherwise you will have to guess and hope that the kind of signal you rebroadcast can be decoded on his side. The further Claude is, the less certain you will be —are, say, European receivers the same as North American ones?²

Content is king

Since it would be impractical to extend and rebroadcast on many channels all of the original signals you receive, you will have to take stock of your resources and choose which signals are worth what expense. This (difficult) decision will greatly depend on content quality, which is of course very hard to quantify: what is interesting to you or your immediate neighbors may not be interesting to Claude or people elsewhere.

Managers of audio collections go through the same processes as described above, and often opt for a dual approach: they try to extend the life of their physical media through environmental controls, and they also reformat their collections. This approach is taxing on their resources, ultimately just a guess, and impossible to evaluate beyond a few years. But try they must.

There is a concept in aeronautics called gravity assist, where spaceships use the orbital pull of planets to increase their reach. Audio archivists play a similar role to those planets, sling-shooting signals into outer space, hoping someone will listen.

¹A name combining Claude Shannon (1916-2001) and the name Zenon, “receiver of life.”

²In fact, they are not.

Randall Library won a grant award from the U.S. National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH), allowing Special Collections and University Archives to bring a preservation specialist to UNCW to assess these unique collections. This grant—the Preservation Assistance Grant (PAG) for Smaller Institutions—paid for Matthew S. ("Matt") Johnson of Etherington Conservation Services (ECS) to spend March 17-21 in Special Collections and University Archives to conduct the survey and to produce a written report.

read more

Margaret Sutton Briscoe Hopkins, undated. From the Ladies of Amherst photo album.

Margaret Sutton Briscoe was born at the end of the Civil War–December 1864–in Baltimore, MD, the daughter of a wealthy doctor, Samuel W. Briscoe and his wife, Cornelia Dushane Blacklock Briscoe. Although she had no memories of the war or slavery, the War marked an immense change in her extended family’s fortunes (the Briscoe family owned the large Sotterly plantation on the Chesapeake Bay), and she had strong memories of Reconstruction. Briscoe’s father died when she was two years old, and she, her mother, and infant brother moved in with her maternal grandfather and his wife. According to Briscoe, her grandfather and step-grandmother doted on and clearly preferred her brother. She was educated at home by private tutors and later lamented the fact that she had not gone to school or studied at college, something that “wasn’t done” in the circles she grew up in.

As a young woman, Briscoe moved to New York City where she worked for publishers and wrote prolifically. She published many short stories, plays, and serialized fiction in periodicals such as Harper’s Bazar, The Outlook, and Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Weekly during the last 15 years of the 19th century and the first 10 years of the 20th century. She also published six short story collections or novels, some of which were compilations of stories that appeared first in periodicals. Copyright has lapsed on these books, and all but one has been digitized and are available for free on the Internet Archive or Google Books.

“Aunt Caulfield’s Wedding Gown” by Margaret Sutton Briscoe in Harper’s Bazar, Nov. 23, 1895

Briscoe married Arthur John Hopkins (AC 1885) in 1895 and gave birth to a daughter, Cornelia Dushane Hopkins in 1896. She moved with her husband to Amherst, MA, where he was a professor of chemistry at Amherst College. She continued to publish under her maiden name after her marriage, although stopped sometime in the early 1910s. In both New York City and later in her life in Amherst, Briscoe Hopkins was very definite about her identity as a Southerner. Her writings drew heavily upon Southern themes and dialects, and she called herself a Southern woman.

We hold both the Arthur Hopkins Papers, and the Margaret Sutton Briscoe Papers, along with several other writings about her: a thin volume entitled, Gusto, Thy Name was Mrs. Hopkins: A Prose Rhapsody, and an essay by Janet Morgan about her that was delivered about 15 years after her death at a Tuesday Club meeting (the Tuesday Club is an Amherst women’s literary club that has been around for more than a century).

Photos from Mark Twain’s 70th birthday party, Dec. 5, 1905. From an article in the Springfield Union, Dec 9, 1935. Briscoe is in white in the lower right, bottom picture.

Everything that I’ve read by and about her makes me want to know more. Both Gusto… and the Tuesday Club essay were written by people who knew her in her later, post-publishing life. Both describe her as a woman of strong opinions, well known in the Pioneer Valley of the time, who served as an unofficial counselor to whom Amherst College deans would send their problem students.

The “Boyden House” (where Dr. and Mrs. Hopkins lived) as it looked in 1911. At the time, it stood where Amherst College’s Kirby Theater now stands

The “Boyden House” where Dr. and Mrs. Hopkins lived, being moved to 58 Woodside Ave. in Amherst

Robert Francis, the author of Gusto… was a young poet who Margaret Sutton Briscoe took under her wing and who lived with her and her husband for two years. He writes of her, “Professor Hopkins used to say with a twinkle that a job which to anyone else would be a one-man job was always, for Mrs. Hopkins, a two-man job… If she were doing the actual work herself, she wanted someone to stand by and be consulted… If another person were doing the actual work, Mrs. Hopkins supervised and superintended,” (pg. 13). According to Francis and the essay by Morgan, Amherst’s chief of police was a frequent recipient of her consultations, to whom she would ask or give advice. Francis also relates an incident in which Briscoe ran into Mrs. Coolidge, recently the first lady of the United States, while out shopping: “…she said to me casually while handing me various bundles: ‘Oh, I just ran into Mrs. Coolidge, and I said to her, “Mrs. Coolidge, what shall I get Mr. Hopkins for lunch?” And she said, “Pork chops. Pork chops, by all means,’” (pg. 25).
Several other interesting facts about Briscoe:

1. She and Dr. Hopkins were world travelers whose adventures included being shipwrecked in the Adriatic, a short shop in Lisbon, Portugal, that coincided with an armed revolution, and camel rides in Egypt. After their return to the United States, Briscoe gave lectures about her experiences in Egypt.
2. She was acquainted with Mark Twain and attended his 70th birthday party in December 1905 at Delmonico’s in New York City.
3. She ran an antiques shop, specializing in pressed glass, out of the Amherst College-owned house that she and Professor Hopkins lived in. The house was moved to make way for the Kirby Theater, and all of the Hopkins’ belongings, including several rooms worth of glassware, were packed and put in storage during the move. The house now stands at 58 Woodside Avenue.

Briscoe’s colorful life appears to have fallen below the radar of academic scholarship thus far, but her newly processed papers will offer more avenues of study. These include unpublished novels by Briscoe, along with her unfinished memoirs, which she was working on at the time of her death.

An article about the Hopkins’ world travels from the Boston Sunday Post, Oct. 14, 1923.

Margaret Sutton Briscoe Hopkins, undated. From the Ladies of Amherst photo album.

Margaret Sutton Briscoe was born at the end of the Civil War–December 1864–in Baltimore, MD, the daughter of a wealthy doctor, Samuel W. Briscoe and his wife, Cornelia Dushane Blacklock Briscoe. Although she had no memories of the war or slavery, the War marked an immense change in her extended family’s fortunes (the Briscoe family owned the large Sotterly plantation on the Chesapeake Bay), and she had strong memories of Reconstruction. Briscoe’s father died when she was two years old, and she, her mother, and infant brother moved in with her maternal grandfather and his wife. According to Briscoe, her grandfather and step-grandmother doted on and clearly preferred her brother. She was educated at home by private tutors and later lamented the fact that she had not gone to school or studied at college, something that “wasn’t done” in the circles she grew up in.

As a young woman, Briscoe moved to New York City where she worked for publishers and wrote prolifically. She published many short stories, plays, and serialized fiction in periodicals such as Harper’s Bazar, The Outlook, and Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Weekly during the last 15 years of the 19th century and the first 10 years of the 20th century. She also published six short story collections or novels, some of which were compilations of stories that appeared first in periodicals. Copyright has lapsed on these books, and all but one has been digitized and are available for free on the Internet Archive or Google Books.

“Aunt Caulfield’s Wedding Gown” by Margaret Sutton Briscoe in Harper’s Bazar, Nov. 23, 1895

Briscoe married Arthur John Hopkins (AC 1885) in 1895 and gave birth to a daughter, Cornelia Dushane Hopkins in 1896. She moved with her husband to Amherst, MA, where he was a professor of chemistry at Amherst College. She continued to publish under her maiden name after her marriage, although stopped sometime in the early 1910s. In both New York City and later in her life in Amherst, Briscoe Hopkins was very definite about her identity as a Southerner. Her writings drew heavily upon Southern themes and dialects, and she called herself a Southern woman.

We hold both the Arthur Hopkins Papers, and the Margaret Sutton Briscoe Papers, along with several other writings about her: a thin volume entitled, Gusto, Thy Name was Mrs. Hopkins: A Prose Rhapsody, and an essay by Janet Morgan about her that was delivered about 15 years after her death at a Tuesday Club meeting (the Tuesday Club is an Amherst women’s literary club that has been around for more than a century).

Photos from Mark Twain’s 70th birthday party, Dec. 5, 1905. From an article in the Springfield Union, Dec 9, 1935. Briscoe is in white in the lower right, bottom picture.

Everything that I’ve read by and about her makes me want to know more. Both Gusto… and the Tuesday Club essay were written by people who knew her in her later, post-publishing life. Both describe her as a woman of strong opinions, well known in the Pioneer Valley of the time, who served as an unofficial counselor to whom Amherst College deans would send their problem students.

The “Boyden House” (where Dr. and Mrs. Hopkins lived) as it looked in 1911. At the time, it stood where Amherst College’s Kirby Theater now stands

The “Boyden House” where Dr. and Mrs. Hopkins lived, being moved to 58 Woodside Ave. in Amherst

Robert Francis, the author of Gusto… was a young poet who Margaret Sutton Briscoe took under her wing and who lived with her and her husband for two years. He writes of her, “Professor Hopkins used to say with a twinkle that a job which to anyone else would be a one-man job was always, for Mrs. Hopkins, a two-man job… If she were doing the actual work herself, she wanted someone to stand by and be consulted… If another person were doing the actual work, Mrs. Hopkins supervised and superintended,” (pg. 13). According to Francis and the essay by Morgan, Amherst’s chief of police was a frequent recipient of her consultations, to whom she would ask or give advice. Francis also relates an incident in which Briscoe ran into Mrs. Coolidge, recently the first lady of the United States, while out shopping: “…she said to me casually while handing me various bundles: ‘Oh, I just ran into Mrs. Coolidge, and I said to her, “Mrs. Coolidge, what shall I get Mr. Hopkins for lunch?” And she said, “Pork chops. Pork chops, by all means,’” (pg. 25).
Several other interesting facts about Briscoe:

1. She and Dr. Hopkins were world travelers whose adventures included being shipwrecked in the Adriatic, a short shop in Lisbon, Portugal, that coincided with an armed revolution, and camel rides in Egypt. After their return to the United States, Briscoe gave lectures about her experiences in Egypt.
2. She was acquainted with Mark Twain and attended his 70th birthday party in December 1905 at Delmonico’s in New York City.
3. She ran an antiques shop, specializing in pressed glass, out of the Amherst College-owned house that she and Professor Hopkins lived in. The house was moved to make way for the Kirby Theater, and all of the Hopkins’ belongings, including several rooms worth of glassware, were packed and put in storage during the move. The house now stands at 58 Woodside Avenue.

Briscoe’s colorful life appears to have fallen below the radar of academic scholarship thus far, but her newly processed papers will offer more avenues of study. These include unpublished novels by Briscoe, along with her unfinished memoirs, which she was working on at the time of her death.

An article about the Hopkins’ world travels from the Boston Sunday Post, Oct. 14, 1923.

Due to staff illness, it will not be possible to fetch books from the Leighton Library in Dunblane between 16^th April and mid May. If you will require a Leighton Library book during that period, please request it by 9^th April at the latest.

Note that many books in the Leighton Library are available online in Historic Books (available from the A-Z list of Online Resources).

Apologies for any inconvenience this may cause.