File #11122: "ms068_01_03.pdf"

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A DECADE

OF GREAT

SONG

IN

AMERICA

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FROM

'

A

PAINTING

OF

MARIAN

ANDERSON

BY

PAUL

MELTSNER

BY

HERSELF

My own start was an early one. Indeed, I have
expressed myself through my voice as long as I have
known myself. I clearly recall that when I was
something under three years old, I was given a
little stool as a present. In those days, my mother
did her own work, and she would leave me alone
in the dining room while she was busy in the
kitchen. I would sit on my stool, before a tiny
table, and make believe that I was playing piano
accompaniments, as I sang. The room was papered
with a flower pattern, and the border of the wall·
paper was all of flowers. As I played and sang.
I saw kindly, friendly faces in flowers, that laughed
and sang with me, My mother used to say that
I was a "good child," to play so nicely by myself. ·
Actually, I was not a bit good. I was having a
glorious time, singing and enjoying myself with my
make believe friends.
At six, I joined the Junior Choir of our church
in Philadelphia. This church was well known for
its music, and the Junior Choir, of forty voices, was
often invited to sing in other churches and even
in other cities. But when train fare for forty be,
came an item, a selected quartet would be sent m·
stead of the entire group. I was always chosen.
At thirteen, I joined the Senior Choir as well,
singing with both groups until I was eighteen. My
aunt, who had a fine soprano voice, was also a
member of the choir, and we often sang duets. I
had much experience, too, as substitute soloist. Our
regular soloists had no salary; consequently they
were responsible to no one for their Sunday ap·

A

DE CADE

0 F

6 R E A T

pearances, and business or pleasure often inter·
fered with their volunteer service. On such oc·
casions I was called upon for the solo, singing a
soprano solo an octave lower, or a bass solo an
octave higher. Thus I tested out my natural range
and became thoroughly acquainted with public
singing.
Dr. Parks, our minister, fostered musical interest
by inviting distinguished soloists to perform for us.
Roland Hayes, who is one of our greatest singers,
Florence Cole Talbot, and many others came, and
I was allowed to appear on the program with them.
Our guests were accomplished musicians, of course,
and they sang classical arias and Lieder. but I was
called on to supply the program's English songs,'
the words of which were understandable to our
congregation. These performances gave me new .
incentives. Understanding nothing, at that time, of
German, French, or Italian, I would hang upon
each note of the music, trying to draw the full
richness and meaning of the songs from the music
alone. And I tried to learn how to give that mean,
ing to others, also without the aid of words. I
knew, of course, that the words and music of a
song are equally important; but nonetheless, it was
excellent practice to try to project the mood and
meaning of a song so completely through music
alone that a person not understanding the words
could still carry a definite impression away with him.
During my second year at high school I earned
the attention of John Thomas Butler, the distin·
guished Negro actor, who offered to pay for singing

S ON6

N

A M E R

C A

~tJ<ian

duie'P-:Jon

·ev

HERSELF

{Continued)

lessons for me, if my family consented. Up to
that time, I had never had a singing lesson. Mr.
Butler sent me to Mary Patterson, who heard me
and offered to teach me without pay. Some months
later, the Philadelphia Choral Society gave a benefit concert for me, and sent me to work with a
leading contralto and teacher of Philadelphia,
Agnes Reifsnyder.
But it was through our high school principal
that I came to port. Dr. Lucy Wilson had the
pioneer idea of encouraging the girls not merely
to go to work, but even to work at the thing they
loved best. She knew that, above all things, I
wanted to sing; and, through the good offices of Lisa
Roma, she secured me an introduction to David
Bispham. Dr. Wilson paid herself, for my audition
with Dr. Bispham; but he was taken by death before I could begin work with him. Miss Roma
then took me to Maestro Boghetti, with whom I
have worked ever since. I have had no special vocal
problems to overcome, and have developed my
voice along the natural lines of bel canto (beautiful
singing) that I have already outlined.
I have no special practice rules . I work on the
material at hand, rather than on formal vocalises.
I never sing when tired. Since a long season of
concert touring brings with it an inevitable amount
of fatigue, there are days when I do not practice
at all. Under such circumstances, the strain on the
entire physical organism, of which the voice is
but a part, would undo the good of practicing.
When I am especially interested in a song, I may
keep at it for hours at a time. But I never sing in
full voice longer then one hour a day, and not
that much at any one time. The well used voice
does not tire; still it is wiser not to overdo. In the
matter of practice, each vocalist must plan her own
routine; it is important, though, that the routin e
be established and kept.

A

DE CA D E

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6 R E A T

BUILDING

A REPERTOIRE

In choosing program material, I make two
requirements. Whatever the period or "school" of
the song, it must first of all be beautiful. In second
place, too, it must make some special appeal to me.
Only then can I draw the best from it. There are
many songs the beauty of which I can perceive
only in an impersonal way; that is to say, they are
not a part of me. And from such material I keep
resolutely away. I believe that worthy interpreta tions result only when the singer can fuse his own
inner vein with the message of the composer. It is
a mistake to gauge song values in terms of success,
or popularity, of the vogue of the moment, or of
anything at all except the sincere belief that the
singer herself can bring to them. No one song may
equally delight everyone in the audience; but a
sincere giving of self must always command respect .
And a song must belong to one before it can be
given to others.
No program is complete, to me, without a group
of spirituals. They are my own music; but it is not
for that reason that I love to sing them . Music has
no racial boundaries . A person can love Schubert,
even if he knows nothing of Vienna. In fact, many
spirituals have been arranged for me by Swedes,
Frenchmen, and Swiss, who have never seen our
South. I love the spirituals because they are truly
spiritual in quality; they give forth an aura of
faith, simplicity, humility, and hope. Others must
find this to be the case, too; for the spiritual is immensely well liked by Europeans who know noth ,
ing of the land or the people who produced the
songs. They find in the spirituals the same quali ties of soul that I do; and, to express faith through
humility, and hope through simplicity, is, perhaps,
the finest thing that any work of art can achieve.
I like to think of the artist as one who approaches
his work in this spirit.
From ETUDE ]'{ov . 1939

S O N G

N

A M E R

C A

•

As she traveled across war,time America, Marian Anderson detoured to sing
in the camps, the hospitals, the war factor:es, the shipyards. Above, 40,000
air cadets parade for her at their graduation at Sheppard Field, Texas.
Below, a scene from the Christmas film made by the Signal Corps, United
States Army, with Leopold Stokowski and the Westminster Choir. 1500
prints were shown on Christmas Day, 1944, in combat areas the world over.

BY MARCIA

DAVENPORT

The day she realized that she must go abroa<l
to immerse herself in its language and its supreme
classic tradition of song, was the day Marian
Anderson came into her own. The pattern had
been followed before her by such potent artists
as Fremstad and Farrar; it was for opera that they
went, but she went for Lieder, the backbone of the
concert singer's repertoire and the cornerstone of
her peculiar art. So M arian Anderson sailed for
Europe. When she returned to sing again in New
York, in 1935, she came as a world celebrity, and
with one song swept her audience off its feet . In
the interim, she had invested the full power of her
fine intelligence and the wealth of her amazing
voice in profound study of the German medium.
Until she began her study of German songs, her
voice and what she made of it had been the salient
features of Marian Anderson as a singer . But the
mere possession of a fine- even a magnificent or
phenomenal - voice has never been enough to carry
its owner to the heights. She must have at least
two other rock,solid inherent powers: the will to
work, and the resources of exceptionally fine per ceptive and projective emotion . A great career in
music comes only through the severest, unremitting,
relentless toil, which polishes the natural equipment
of the artist to exacting technical standards . Such
an equipment, though, is useless without a heart.
Marian Anderson was born with such a heart, and
with the brains to make the most of her natural
voice. And through the medium of the world's

greatest music she has become one of those rare
ministers to the hunger for poetry and lyric beauty
shared by all.
Paris, as would be expected, went literally wild.
London eagerly capitulated.
Central Europe, in
whose music she reached towering expression, went
mad about her. In the summer of 1935 I first heard
her, in a small salon at Salzburg, before an audience
hand-picked from the greatest musicians in the
world. Some of them were too dumbfounded to
say anything at all, others wonderingly shook their
heads and declared hers a voice in a century, and
her interpretations of classic music phenomenal.
Calmly she went on her way . In Berlin a Scandi navian manager who was arranging concerts in
Sweden and Denmark came to her with Kosti
Vehanen, who was to become her permanent accompanist. Between pianist and singer there has grown
up an intellectual and personal artistic sympathy
of un usual quality. Mr. Vehanen is a Finn, and
the day came when he went with her to Finland
and introduced her to its greatest man, Sibelius .
H e too was captivated, and he has written songs
especially for her. With Mr. Vehanen the northern
world opened up magically . She adores Sweden, has
learned the language, and sings in it, as well as in
Finnish, French and Italian music she had explored .
Her singing in English is a delight to the ear,
beyond the music, for her diction is crystalline .
She is, then , a true concert singer. The world
being differently constituted, she might have been an

opera singer, but it is a marvelous thing that she
is not. Her repertoire is full of great operatic arias,
especially the noblest classic ones of style. But the
singer who travels the whole world over, bringing
music in its most natural form to people of every
class and sort and doing this without the externally
glamorous accouterments of the theater, is the singer
whose grip on a public, once attained, is steel.
A contralto with a range of three full octaves,
she has what might be described as a pair of voices.
The upper half is brilliant and flexible and heady,
a soprano for all technical and interpretive purposes. The lower half is that hair-raising deep
voice the like of which I have never heard, and
which I suspect never has been heard before. In such
songs as Der Erl~oenig or Der 'Tod und das Maed,
chen, which consist of conversations between two
voices, a high one and a low, she is amazing. She
moves from one to the other not only with effort,
less range firm in remarkable technical control. Her
pianissimo is a marvel of muscular power, absolutely round and velvety and solid as her biggest tones.
She is constantly "feeding" her voice, expanding
her medium every year to include new types of

music and language, which enrich not only her
repertoire but her vocal resources.
The whole world knows her now. She has sung
in every capital of Europe, has had all the proverbial and many novel forms of adulation, has
sent audiences wild with enthusiasm throughout
Russia and South America, and has won her own
native land to universal vociferous acclaim. What
is more, she is that certain powerful sort of musical
attraction that people mean when they speak of "the
good old days." Like the "old-time religion," the
old-time concert is waning; today there is nothing in
it, as a rule, vital enough to compel the loyalty of
millions. Of all concert artists before the American
public, exactly six are certain, automatic, box-office
sellouts. Marian Anderson is one of these. In the
next two years, she has not room for an additional
concert engagement. She is young, on the upcurve
of her vocal prime, and noble to look upon. When
she stands on a platform, exquisitely dressed by Paris
in white or a gleaming brocade, her strong, slender
figure and poised bearing proclaiming in every
detail the ripened mistress of a great art, she is
one of the proudest ornaments of this country.
From an art:cle in COLLIER'S Magazine Dec. 3, 1938

ye~
Year after year, from 19 3 5
until the war, Marian
Anders~n carried her song
across the seas and back.

• • •

1gJg
t

!T

HE hearts of 75,000 Americans, and of uncounted thousands more
at their radios, lifted to the song of Marian Anderson as she stood
..
before the brooding figure of the Great Emancipator on Easter
Sunday, 1939. On the platform of the Lincoln Memorial, behind her, sat
members of the Cabinet, the Supreme Court, Senators and Representatives,
leaders of American thought, signalizing by their presence this climax
in a nation's protest against the action of the Daughters of the American
Revolution in barring a great American artist from Constitution Hall
because of her color.

T quite four years later, on January 7, 1943, the scales of history
alanced once more. Marian Anderson sang in Constitution Hall
before an audience in which color was no bar, with Mrs. Roosevelt,
who had resigned from the D .A.R. in 1939, seated in a box, with a preponderance of notables dazzling even for the nation's capital. The entire
proceeds, including Miss Anderson's fee, went to United China Relief.
Said LIFE, "As always, she sang simply and beautifully." Here, descending
the steps of the celebrated Hall in a flurry of Washington snow, is Miss
Anderson, her arms full of flowers, with impresario S. Hurok, her accomoanist Franz Rupp, and her travelling manager Isaac Jofe.

A young girl in an alien land, welcomed by the people
of Stockholm, Oslo, Helsinki, Paris, Berlin, not yet by
her own people . It was the summer of 1935. Behind her
were the years of her mother's sacrifice, her neighbors'
encouragement, her own earnest devotion to song. Ahead,
the moment in Salzburg when Toscanini said, "A voice
like yours is heard once in a hundred years ." Ahead the
night in Town Hall when Americans heard her greatness
for the first time.

Marian Anderson today, acknowledged one of the gi:(;at
singers of all time, beloved in her own land and across
the seas as few have been at any time . Laden with honors,
besieged by adorers, she is still t~e simple, true-hearted
woman, as she was the simple, true-hearted girl of ten
years before. In this superb portrait by Philippe Halsman
she wears a priceless three-centuries-old Russian robe,
memento of the adoring Russians whose Stanislavsky
brought her white lilacs in Moscow's mid-winter.

A proud America has heaped new honors on
Marian Anderson, America's great lady of song,
as she sets forth this season on her gala tenth tour
of her native land.
As though to make up for the years in which
her own country turned a deaf ear to the modest
Philadelphia girl, and she was forced to find her
first recognition abroad-until
1935', when impresario S. Hurok triumphantly brought her back
and her countrymen welcomed her as one of the
great artists of all time-Marian
Anderson's homeland has not ceased to disprove the adage that one
is without honor in one's own country.
Smith College in June made her an honorary
Doctor of Music, adding one more to the degrees
she already holds from Temple and Howard Uni versities. Earlier in the season the Republic of
Liberia presented her with its highest award, the
Order of African Redemption, in recognition of
the crt:C:it she has brought to the Negro people .
And one of the more private aspects of her life, the
humanitarian , won her the Merit Award of the

Deeply moved, Marian Anderson
shares with her mother the high moment of receiving the Bok Award .

New York Youth Committee for her work among
underprivileged children of Harlem in a music
school of the Juvenile Welfare Council.
Conferring upon her the honorary degree, Presi dent Herbert Davis of Smith read the following
citation: "Marian Anderson, an American woman
of unselfish devotion who, through the splendor of
her voice, the nobility of her art, has awakened
and fortified in the hearts of countless thousands
that humanity in which we are all one."
With the $10,000 Bok Award presented to her
in 1941, the Spingarn Medal in 1939, and the
Grand Prix du Chant for the best recorded voice
on the Continent, Miss Anderson is now the most
honorladen, as well as by general consent the
greatest, singer of her time . A mural in the
Department of Interior Building in Washington,
commemorating her great Easter Sunday concert
at the Lincoln Memorial in 1939, has been dedi ,
cated to her . A Liberty Ship, christened by her
the Booker T. Washington, sails the seas on its
wartime missions.

(

the Booker T. Washington, first Liberty ship to be named
for a famous Negro. Captained by Negro shipmaster Hugh Mulzac, with
a crew of white and Negro seamen, the sturdy freighter has crossed
the seas many times with urgent war supplies for the fighting fronts.

aUNCHING

2,,

The quaint 1ctorian farmhou,e at Marianna, in Connecti cut . Fenon, the Kerry Blue terrier, with M i Anderson .

Time out for a swim in the naturalistic
pool with accompanist Franz Rupp.

Work as well a play : recording a
new ng in the tudio at Marianna

A visit with Pontiac, porcine mat ron, and her numerous offspring.

at

• •

A good grape crop this year,
Farmer Anderson predicts .

Phyllis, Annabella's daughter, born at Marianna, is
growing up to be a prize Jersey cow, pride of the farm .

Fenon and his mistress survey their
idyllic kingdom from the porch .

A real dirt farmer is Marian Anderson, inspecting
the cabbage patch with Fenon 's dubious assistance.

LU

By

er rr r

H O W A R D TAUBMAN
A tall, slim, serious girl in her 'teens named
Marian Anderson was the favorite singer of the
South Philadelphia Negro neighborhood where she
lived a score of years ago. There was a welling
fund of music in her and she had to sing. Whereever and whenever they asked her, she sang.
Today she is America's greatest contralto. She
appears in more recitals each season than any other
major artist, and her fee is among the top five of
the land. She has sung throughout Europe and the
United States, and she has won the unstinted admiration of the average citizen, of eminent musicians like Jean Sibelius and Arturo Toscanini, of
President and Mrs. Roosevelt, and of the King and
Queen of England, for whom she sang at the White
House in 1939.
There is a powerful appeal in Marian Anderson
on the stage. Even before she sings a single song
she has won her audience. She is tall and stately in
figure, and she takes her place before the piano with
the simplicity and dignity of one who regards it a
privilege to be permitted to sing. There is no osten,
tation, no sign of tension. She faces the audience
calmly and confidently, with never the slightest
trace of a prima donna mannerism. Then she nods
to the pianist, closes her eyes and sings. Now she
is like a high priestess of song-devout, passionate,
exalted by turns. She wants the audience to forget
Marian Anderson and to become aware only of
Bach and Schubert and Brahms and the others who
poured their innermost emotions into music. And
when the applause and the cheers cascade through
the theatre, she does not behave like a triumphant
heroine; she is profoundly moved that her listeners
are pleased.
Miss Anderson carries the same simplicity and
integrity into her everyday life. Off the stage she
is modest, even humble. She finds it difficult to
speak of herself in the first person. She does not
often say "I sang here" or "I gave a concert there;"
she uses the pronoun "we" since, after all, there is
always an accompanist . When she discusses the

details of her life she does not often say "I did
this" or "I went there," but "one did this" and
"one went there."
She is not stuffy or holier-than-thou in her atti,
tude. She could not be. Her large brown eyes are
constantly alight and her laughter is warm and soft.
She does not seem as tall and majestic off stage as
on. She moves lithely, and her conversation is
animated. She looks almost girlish as she sits in an
easy chair and tucks her legs under her.
She has not let the world's adulation spoil her or
affect her way of life. When she goes barnstorm,
ing over America she travels without a maid. It is
not that she can't afford help; she just prefers to
do for herself. She tried a maid one season and let
her do the packing and unpacking at each stop. It
made her uneasy because she couldn't find things
when she wanted them. Now she does her own
packing and unpacking and she even irons her own
evening gown on the afternoon before a recital. She
does not fuss when people smoke in her presence
and she does not watch her diet as carefully as other
singers do. "One eats," she says simply, "when
one is hungry."
Marian Anderson does not believe in treating her,
self as if she were precious and fragile china. She
tries to live as normally as is possible for one who
spends many hours on trains and in hotels. She
learned to take hazards in stride during her child,
hood and youth and this experience has been her
strength in her concert work.
Like other great American Negro singers-Roland
Hayes, Paul Robeson-Miss Anderson is aware she
is not just a singer, but a representative of her
people. There are twenty-seven clubs throughout
the United States named after her. In Philadelphia
they speak of her as "our Marian." Though she
loves the great songs of all literature, she sings the
spirituals with special intensity and devotion.
Wherever she goes, she is not just another singer
but one of the voices of her race.
From the 'New Yori{ TIMES Magazine April 6, 1941

S. HUROK

IMPRESARIO

0 F

T H E ARTS

In this era of peace, ushering in the atomic age, new horizons will be sighted in every sphere of human
endeavor: science, industry, sociology and culture. The name of S. Hurok, so deeply stamped on the music
and ballet of the last twenty,five years, will be even more clearly impressed upon the concert and theatrical
arts of the next quarter of a century. Great names of yesterday - Pavlowa, Chaliapin, Isadora Duncan-par,
alleled by today's Marian Anderson, Arthur Rubinstein, Jan Peerce, Ballet The atre, Martha Graham, the
Don Cossacks, Argentinita, the Metropolitan opera and others will find their reflection in tomorrow's con,
stellation of stars whose discovery will be du e likewise to the interest and enterprise of the only impresario
of our time who serves the grand tradition.
'The life story of S. Hurok.., entitled "Impresario," will be published this year by Random House.
In this book.., the excitement, glitter and humor of music's golden age in America are viewed
through the canny eyes of the man who has given this nation some of its most treasured hours
in the concert hall and theatre.

OF MARIAN

SONGS
AVE MARIA

Schubert

Ave Maria! Maiden mild. Listen to a maiden's prayer!
For thou canst hear though from the wild,
'Tis Thou can save amid despair.
Safe may we sleep beneath Thy care,
Though banished, outcast and reviled.
0 Maiden see a maiden's sorrow,
0 Mother, hear a suppliant child
Ave Maria.

SE FLORINDO

E FEDELE

.

Allessandro Scarletti

Should Florinda be faithful
Surely I'll fall in love.
How artful e'er he draw the bow
Well vers'd in archers' wiles,
My heart I can defend, I know,
From any luring smiles.
Sighing, weeping, and imploring
My breast can never move;
But if he should be faithful
I'll surely fall in love.

DER TOD

UND

DAS MADCHEN

Schubert

The Maiden:
Pass onward, 0 pass onward
Wild man with barren bone!
I'm but a forlorn maiden
Go, leave the young alone!
Death:
Give me thy hand, 0 fair young child,
As friend I come, and not to chasten.
Be of good cheer, I am not wild,
Come then, and to these fond arms hasten!

WHEN

I AM LAID IN EAR TH

ANDERSON

BEGRUSSUNG

Handel

Following is a free translation of Greeting: Son, see
down the cheeks of your aged father, tears are streaming.
Long after I have been in the grave, your name and glory
will fill the world.
ARIA. "O DON FAT ALE" (DON CARLO)
0 fatal gift! 0 cruel gift!
That in its fury, a Heaven brings to me!
No matter what may come to pass,
I curse my fatal beauty!
All hope is lost, I can but shed my tears .
My crime is past redemption.
Ah! How I curse my beauty!
0 my queen! I sacrificed thee
To the mad folly of my heart.
Let me now hide - in some secluded convent From all the world my utter grief and shame
Oh! Heaven! and Carlos?
Great Heaven! He dies tomorrow!
But stay! A day is still remaining!
The axe they now prepare
But stay! A day is still remaining!
Once more hope smiles upon me,
To save his life, I will all dangers dare!
Schumann

DER NUSSBAUM

Purcell

Verdi

There stands by the house a walnut tree,
Gaily, daily greener, the leaves are all waving free.
And blossoms hang thick on ev'ry bough,
Fragrant, vagrant breezes come forth to woo them now.
And two by two whisp'ring low and sweet.
Playing, swaying gently, at last in a kiss they meet .
They whisper about a maiden
Who pondered and wondered both night and day .
Wherefore, ah, ne'er could she say!
They whisper, they whisper
So soft and low one can hardly hear,
Whisper a bridegroom will come next year,
Will come next year.
The maiden listens, the leaves breathe sighs,
Blissful, wistful dreaming,
Softly asleep she lies.

Recitative:
Thy hand, Belinda, darkness shades me
On thy bosom let me rest,
More I would, but Death invades me,
Death is now a welcome guest.

AMURI! AMURI!

Aria:
When I am laid in earth,
May my wrongs create no trouble in thy breast
Remember me, but ah! forget my fate .

A Sicilian carter walks at the side of his horse, and full
of grief, thinks of what love has made of him, while he is
saying now and then to his horse "Trot along, old man,
we are driving home."

.

Sadero

Continued

Marian Anderson's accompanist for the past five years is not only
considered one of the finest accompanists on the concert stage today, but
has a notable reputation as a concert soloist besides. Born in the Bavarian
Alps, Mr. Rupp began his musical training at the age of five as a violinist
under the tutelage of his father, a gifted amateur violinist. At seven he
turned to the piano, and at ten had already enjoyed the satisfaction of
hearing his own compositions performed in his native town. Enrolled at
the Munich Academy of Music at fourteen, he won the annual grand prize
offered by the Bavarian Government for four consecutive years. He toured
Europe extensively as concert soloist and as accompanist to scores of the
leading artists of the world until, in 1938, his voicing of anti-Hitler sentiments came to the ears of the Gestapo and he made his escape. Mr. Rupp
will intersperse his tour with Miss Anderson this year with a number of
solo concerts of his own under Mr. Hurok's management.

SONGS

MARIAN

OF

ANDERSON

Continued

DERE'S NO HIDIN'

PLACE DOWN

DERE,
Arr. by Brown

Dere 's no hidin' place down dere,
Oh! I went to de rock to hide my face,
De rock cried out no hidin' place
Dere's no hidin' place down dere.
Oh! de rock cried I'm burning too
Oh! de rock cried out I'm burning too,
I want to go to Heaven as well as you.
Dere 's no hidin' place down dere .
Oh, de sinner man he gambled and fell.
Oh, de sinner man gambled, he gambled and fell
He wanted to go to Heaven but he had to go to hell.
Dere's no hidin' place down dere.

HONOR,HONOR

Arr. by Johnson

King Jesus lit de candle by de waterside,
To see de little chillun when dey truly baptize.
Honor! H onor! unto de dying Lamb.
Oh, run along chillun, an be baptize
Mighty pretty meetin' by de waterside.
Honor! Honor! unto de dying Lamb.
I prayed all day, I prayed all night
My head got sprinkled wid de mid-night dev..;.
Honor! Honor! unto dying Lamb.

DEEP RIVER

.

HEAV'N!

.

Arr. by Payne

They crucified my LordAn' he never said a mumb'lin word.
Not a word.
They pierced him in the side.>\.n' he never said a mumb'lin word.
Not a word.
He bow' d his head an' diedAn' he never said a mumb 'lin word.
Not a word, not a word, not a word.

MY SOUL'S BEEN ANCHORED
LORD .

IN THE
Arr. by Price

In the Lord, in the Lord,
My soul's been anchored in the Lord.
Before I'd stay in Hell one day,
My soul's been anchored in the Lord.
I'd sing and pray myself away,
My soul's been anchored in the Lord.
I'm going to pray and never stop.
My soul's been anchored in the Lord .
Until I reach the mountain top.
My soul's been anchored in the Lord.
In the Lord, in the Lord.
My soul's been anchored in the Lord.
God knows my soul's been anchored in the Lord.

Arr. by Burleigh

Deep river, my home is over Jordan.
Deep river, Lord, I want to cross over into campground.
Oh, don't you want to go to that gospel feast,
That promised land, where all is peace?
O! Deep river, Lord, etc.

HEAV'N!

CRUCIFIXION

Arr. by Brown

I got a robe, you got a robe,
All God's childr en got a robe.
When I get to Heav'n going to put on my robe.
Going to shout all over God's Heav'n! Heav'n! Heav'n!
Everybody talking about He av'n
Aint going there.
I got shoes, you got shoes,
All God's children got shoes.
When I get to Heav'n going to put on my shoes.
Going to walk all over God's H eav'n! Heav'n! Heav·n!
Everybody talking about Heav 'n
Aint going there.

SOMETIMES
CHILD .

I FEEL LIKE A MOTHERLESS
Arr. by Brown

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
A long ways from home.
True believer, a long ways from home
Sometimes I feel like I'm almost gone
A long ways from home
True believer, a long ways from home.

LET US BREAK BREAD TOGETHER,
Arr. by Lawrence
Let us break bread together on our knees,
When I fall on my knees
With my face to the rising sun
0 Lord, have mercy on me.
Let us drink wine together on our knees.
Let us praise God together on our knee~
0 Lord have mercy, if you please.

S. HUROK
is privileged

THE

FIRST

to announce

TOUR

COAST-TO-COAST
under his direction of

AMERICA'S GREAT DANCER

MARTHA GRAHAM
DANCE

and

COMPANY

with Orchestra
LOUIS HORST, Musical Director

tj,z,eat

is a word never more justly used than when

applied to Martha Graham,

America's

unique dance per-

sonality. She will be seen on tour in repertory, P'resenting her
successes which bear her characteristic stamp and which in
•
turn have impressed her indelibly upon the American theatre.

Exclusive Management

HUROK

ATTRACTIONS,

711 FIFTH AVENUE
Booking Direction:

•

NATIONAL

INC

.

NEW YORK CITY 22, N. Y.
CONCERT

AND ARTISTS

CORP .

S. HUROK'S

METROPOLITAN
OPERAASSOCIATION

*

7~

*

Co-Ordinators;
S. HUROK and
National Concert and Artists Corp.

/o'z,Sea41J#l945-l946
MARIAN ANDERSON· ARTUR RUBINSTEIN
BALLETTHEATRE
tbegreatestin RUSSIANBALLET
JAN

PEER CE • PATRICE

MUNSEL

MARTHAGRAHAM& COMPANY
wit/, ORCHESTRA
ORIGINALDON COSSACK
CHORUS
& DANCERS
Serge Jaroff, Director
ALICIA
MARKO
VA,ANTON
DOLIN°nd BALLET
ENSEMBLE
·
ARGENT/NITA, PILAR LOPEZ & COMPANY
BLANCHE

THEBOM

• /SAAC

STERN

JARMILA NO VOTNA • ANDRES SEGOVIA
ODNOPOSOFF

• EDMUND

KURTZ

RICHARD DYER-BENNET • FRANZ RUPP
ROBERTHALL COLLINS • JULIUS KATCHEN
~~

detad4 w.,ute,,
HUROK
ATTRACTIONS,
Inc.
711 Fifth Avenue, New York 22, N. Y.
Booking Direction:
NATIONAL

CONCERT

&

ARTISTS

CORP.

RCA\fiCTOR
presents

Songs

Spirituals
_by

MARIAN

ANDERSON

Hard Trials-Arr. Burleigh
Dere's No Hidin' Place Doirn Dere-Arr. Brown
£/egie-Massenet
Will o' the Wisp-Benjamin-Spross
Comin' Through the Rye
When Night Descends-Rachmaninoff
Die Schnur, die Perl an Perle-Brahms
My Soul's Been Anchored in the Lord-Arr. Price
Ask for Album M-986, $3.50

and hear her glorious

voice in Schuberf s

~~

On the reverse side, Miss Anderson sings Schubert 's Au.fmthalt (My Abode).
Look for the attractive display at your RCA Victor dealer's. Record 11210, $1.00.
Prices ar e suggested list pric es el:-clusive of taxes
RADIO

CORPORATION

THE WORLD'S

OF

AMERICA,

GREATEST

RCA

VICTOR

ARTISTS

DIVISION,

CAMDEN,

N. J.

ARE ON

~
·· --

RCA:\V7iICTOR

RED SEAL RECORDS ~

.....

491