Research: Distracting Oneself from Distractions

My oldies are giving cause for serious concern, and I’m distracted.  These situations happen to most of us – I won’t elaborate. Suffice to say that research itself can be a distraction from the awfulness, but not entirely!

Young Disrupter

Take yesterday. I thought I’d find solace in our big city public library.  First, I headed for the library cafĂ©, but although the coffee was good, someone else’s screaming, beaker-flinging toddler didn’t make for a calming experience. I don’t blame the parent – it was just unfortunate.

Horrible old Technology!

Then the microfiche reader screen was too high for my varifocals, so I had to stand to consult it;  there was only just room and nowhere to plug in the laptop; and not  enough room for my notebook unless I sat back down and balanced it on the edge of the table. I have never liked microfiches anyway! I disliked them in 1988 – nothing has changed.

Although I would like to have stayed longer – I didn’t complete my mission – I wasn’t entirely sorry to have to leave in order not to disappoint expectations that I’d be home to fix lunch.

Back at my own desk, I fiddled with my notes, checked out some details, and quickly checked in with relatives. No news.

Finally, giving in to temptation, I headed back to my happy place.  Fabric.  In this case, examining Flora Woodman’s concert wardrobe through her performance log! I’ve mentioned before that she logged every outfit worn. It’s a shame that the only outfits we can see, are those in publicity photos. Still, the log gives a good impression of the range of outfits, and some of her accessories.  Let me share the concert attire worn by the emerging young star in her first couple of years.  Obviously, there’s no indication of style or design, so you’ll need to visit a few historical costume websites for 1913-1915 and form your own imagined impressions.

(I’ve indicated the source of this blog picture below – it has nothing to do with Flora.)  There’s also a Facebook page called Attire’s Mind, which gives plenty more food for thought.

1913-1914

Cream Lace
Navy Blue
White and Pink
White Coat & skirt
White Silk

1915

Black & White
Blue (Spanish)
Cream Lace
Fur Coat & Pink Hat
Navy Coat & Skirt & White Hat
Pale Green & White
Pink (blue sash)
Pink Rose
Silver, Pink & Mauve
White Silk
White (with Black Tulle, Ermine or Swansdown on different occasions)

I found the most beautiful dress on The Romantiquary; in my imagination, this might have been one of Flora’s fabulous frocks. Meanwhile, I need to get a grip on myself and get back to the research proper. I’m not a historical costume expert!

PS. I could be persuaded to list more of Flora’s wardrobe later … ?!

Fame! Flora Woodman and Robert Wilson under the Spotlight

I’m giving a paper at a forthcoming conference at the University of Surrey: Actors, Singers and Celebrity Cultures across the Centuries.

It takes place from tomorrow, Thursday 12 to Saturday 14 June 2025, and is organised under the aegis of the University’s Theatrical Voice Research Centre.

My talk’s entitled, ‘Comparing the Career Trajectories of Two Scottish Singers: Flora Woodman and Robert Wilson‘. 

The Gowns! The Kilts!

I could write plenty about their concert attire alone (think lace, diamonds and fluted frocks, or smart kilts and jackets) – but obviously, I can only just brush past that particular clothes rail, considering the more significant observations that I’m also making.

Boosey’s Ballads

Today, I’d like to share some audio that won’t be making it into my talk. Let’s call it ‘extra content’.  I’ve recorded some of the Boosey-published ballads that Flora performed at their Royal Albert Hall concerts.  Since I’m not a trained singer, I’ve done my best to convey an impression solely on the piano.  (I’m not going to start singing here!)  I also highlight some of the themes in these songs – captured hearts, broken hearts, the joys of spring and of youth.  It’s surprising what you find, if you really look.

Here goes:-

The Value of Using a Sensible, Meaningful Title

AI-generated owl in tweeds, with library shelves in background

Some years ago, I wrote an article about bibliography and paratext – for a librarianship journal, The Library Review. Taking a marketing term, I discussed ways of trying to make bibliographic citation more ‘sexy’, ie, appealing to students.

Oh, how I regretted that article title. Too late, I feared no-one would take it seriously.  All the advice says that an article title should say what it means, directly. 

After all, if we’re going to be very ‘meta’ about it, what attracted you to this blog post? I said it was about article titles, and here I am, writing about them. It does what it says on the can, to use a colloquial expression. If you were looking for advice about entitling your article, you might conceivably have thought you’d arrived at the right place.

So, why hadn’t I just entitled that earlier article,

‘Getting undergraduates interested in library-based teaching: bibliographic citation and historical paratext’

But I didn’t. Library Review Vol. 64 Iss 1/2 pp. 154 – 161 is there for all to see, with that cringeworthy article title:-

‘Sexy’ bibliography (and revealing paratext)

I learned my lesson. Titles have to be plain and meaningful, so that everyone knows exactly what they’re about. No messing.  Otherwise,  the danger is that people looking for conventionally sexy and revealing material might stumble across my pedagogical peregrinations and feel cheated. Whilst pedagogues might not even find my article.  (Which would be a shame.)

Today, however, my line manager was digging about in Pure, our institutional repository. And – well, I’m a bit stunned to find that my poor little article got far and away the most views. Over 8,700 views, to be precise!

If you’re interested in pedagogy, and specifically, in librarians teaching, then I commend it to you. It’s not a bad article. You can access it here.

However, if you’re expecting a sultry-looking librarian in an off-the shoulder chiffon number, then I’m afraid you are going to be bitterly, bitterly disappointed! I reveal only my experimentation in making bibliographic citation and historical paratext interesting to music undergraduates!

AI generated image by Kalpesh Ajugia from Pixabay

Bringing Characters to Life

If I remember one comment from my doctoral viva, it was an observation about my writing.

You really bring the characters to life.

And I smiled inwardly, because for several years prior to that, I had published short stories and even a serial in a women’s magazine. I can write about people.

When it comes to research, though, the real people get so under my skin that I feel I almost know them personally.  Yesterday, I found a few letters where an assistant editor was trying to hurry things along before she left for a new job.  She explained this to her authors. Unusually, their replies were also there, so I looked eagerly for their well-wishing messages, or a word of thanks for her efforts – which had been considerable.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

I felt indignant on her behalf, but it was the 1950s. Maybe gentlemen didn’t thank lady assistant editors in those days?  I like to think there might have been a tea-party in the office, at least. I know for a fact that the ladies’ tea-breaks were affectionately referred to as ‘the tea-party’, so hopefully someone baked a cake or some scones for her last day!

Maybe?

It is sometimes, however, possible to read too much into a situation. I was surprised to catch an author suddenly writing ‘Dear Madam’ and ‘Yours faithfully’ to someone he’d been writing to for months. And yes, the recipient accordingly responded, ‘Dear Sir’.  I think it was a momentary blip. Maybe Sir’s secretary didn’t remember the recipient’s name.  Anyway, friendly terms resumed after that, so all was well!

The Silent Movie Solo Date

Some months ago, I came across a book that had been given the title of a popular song.  I got the book. I understand it was categorised as ‘sensational ‘ at the time.  This does not denote ‘stunning’. It was a genre, and not the highest literature.

Later, it had become a silent movie, and I wanted to watch it. Indeed, from a research viewpoint, I needed to see it – though I’ll grant you it does seem counterintuitive that a musicologist would want to watch something without sound.

I couldn’t justify going all the way down to London to watch it,  but I managed to find it at NLS.  (Sometimes the spelling of a word, or the presence/absence of an apostrophe makes all the difference in something’s retrievability.) 

But why did this film matter to me? I wanted to see if the original song might have been played at various places in the movie.  There’s no direct link between the film  – or the book – and someone I’ve been researching, but they did sing that song.  A lot.

It takes a while to get a silent movie converted to a DVD, but finally, today, I went and watched it.  The NLS has a Glasgow outpost for digital media.  It’s located in the former transport museum at Kelvin Hall, just a bus-ride from home.

Stakeholders in this building are the NLS, Glasgow City Council, the Hunterian Museum and the University of Glasgow, and there’s also a gym facility and a cafe – so you encounter staff in orange polo shirts and shorts before you pass an enormous hall laid out for University exams. Then a museum store. And then, finally, there’s the NLS!

I tried to imagine myself in a cinema with an audience and a cinema pianist or even a small ‘orchestra’.  It was a far stretch, sitting in a neat, up-to-date viewing room with modern tech and my notebook in front of me!

The film I’d found was the 1923 re-release of an earlier non-surviving film, but it wasn’t quite the whole movie … that’s partly because the lead actor died before they’d finished shooting the movie. Seems strange that it was still released, doesn’t it? I couldn’t tell if what NLS had, was all that had been shot, or slightly less; it didn’t end neatly.

But as for the song? Yes, I found what I was looking for.  So it was worth sitting in silence in a viewing room for 2 hours on a Saturday morning!

As a film adaptation, though, it was interesting to see what was omitted from the narrative, as well as a curious change. Towards the end of the 1875 novel, the heartbroken heroine hints that she’d contemplate impropriety. It’s just a hint – it’s the hero who says the idea is unthinkable.  Whereas in the film, she says (the words appear on the screen) that owing to the situation her beloved is in, they have absolutely no hope of a shared future. 

I hadn’t anticipated a film watering down something that must have been scandalous when published nearly 50 years earlier.  I didn’t notice anything about BBFC classification at the start,  but I imagine it would have been considered perfectly suitable for general viewing.  I wonder if that has anything to do with it?

Maybe I shouldn’t overthink it.  Back to my notebook and my original thoughts!

I Struck Gold!

Since January, I have leafed through thousands of cc’d letters concerning the publishing activities of the former Edinburgh publisher, Thomas Nelson & Son Ltd.  Their four Scots Song Books were published 1948-54, so I focused on those years, a little before and a little after.  You might struggle to imagine just how many boxes and file books were filled in such a comparatively short timescale – yards of them – but it was a big, commercially active firm.

And I have indeed found documents about the song books, but I’ve still harboured a sneaky suspicion that there had to be more.  I made further lists of files I ought probably to check, just in case.

Today, I captured my prey! Two whole folders dedicated to these books,  spanning several years but sitting quietly in the middle of one single year  … with a handwritten note saying where they should be filed.  (The ultimate, unattained destination is immaterial, considering the books and boxes now live in an archive rather than the demolished Parkside Works.)

These two grey folders are packed with letters and memos, and – unusually – there are quite a lot of incoming  letters as well as the expected carbon copied outgoing mail. Very nice indeed. (I wanted to hug them, but that might have looked a bit weird!)

There’s nothing for it – I’m listing every sheet of paper, in chronological oder (thanks, Microsoft), with sender, addressee  and a summary of content. Or a transcription, if appropriate.  Data protection means no photos of anything from 1950 onwards, but photos aren’t a very good way of remembering the content in detail, so I don’t really mind.

Unexpected Treasure

“The Basic Material is not the Word but the Letter” – Nathan Coley, for CAHSS

So says the striking, illuminated art piece in the entrance hall of Edinburgh University Library.  The College of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences’ website explains that it is the work of Nathan Coley:-

The illuminated sculpture was created by Turner Prize-nominated artist Nathan Coley. […] The Basic Material is not the Word but the Letter [is] also the name of the piece.  19 Jan 2018 CAHSS

The words come from a manuscript in the archives.  Make your own interpretation, says the website.

Well, after my frequent sojourns in the Heritage Collections reading room, consulting thousands of letters in the Thomas Nelson archives, as far as I’m concerned it definitely means letters of correspondence, as opposed to alphabet letters! 

And what a lot I’m learning about the former Edinburgh publishing company.  One of the nicest things is observing the warm rapport established between the editors and their authors. The ones they had most contact with, clearly became friends, over and above their close working relationship. (Although, sometimes I get so caught up in their conversations that I forget they’re talking about books that don’t strictly concern me. Today, I caught them discussing a nursery school expert at Moray House.  But I couldn’t track down the song-book she was said to have written!)

Addenda to ‘Our Heroine is Dead: Margaret Wallace Thomson …’

Choral music - A Weary Day, by Margaret (Maggie) Wallace Thomson

I wrote an article for a Scottish organists’ newsletter, a couple of years ago. To ensure the article would continue to be accessible even if the newsletter was not, I also posted it on this blog.

I was thrilled to receive a query about Margaret (aka Maggie) Thomson over the weekend, so I updated the article gently with a couple of scans and a little bit more detail.

Maggie was clearly a modest soul – or, maybe, a typical Victorian woman, eschewing the limelight – even when she was made a presentation, her brother made the acceptance speech. At any rate, I’m not at all surprised that so little survives of her work. It sounds as though she was an amazing, and much loved accompanist, but the two pieces in The National Choir really aren’t remarkable in any way. Parlane was a local, Paisley book publisher with a considerable output, but having a contribution published in The National Choir would not have as much kudos as a composition published by Boosey or even by one of Scotland’s bigger music publishers. (There’s quite a bit more about Parlane and The National Choir in my book, if you’re interested.)

Another piece, referenced in a newspaper review, probably wasn’t even published.

And there’s another piece, held by the British Library, that has some connection with her – although, if she arranged it, then I’m not quite sure what Wallace Waterston’s input was, even though it is catalogued under his name. Maybe he wrote the tune? I haven’t tried to find out.

ADDENDA to my earlier article:-

I can share images of the National Choir songs:-

  • ‘The smiling spring’, words by Burns, arr. by MWT for The National Choir [Vol.1 p.238] (Parlane, 1891)
  • ‘The Weary day’, original words and music, by MWT for The National Choir Vol.1 p.312 (Parlane, 1891)

Untraceable:-

  • ‘The voice of the deep’ (1883), bass song, written and composed by MWT [Addendum: referenced in a newspaper report of a concert that took place in St George’s Church, Paisley. A positive review!  However, the score might not have been published.]

I can also share the reference to the copy of ‘Break, break, break’ in the British Library:-

  • ‘Break, break, break!’, by Wallace Waterston, piano accompt by MWT (1894, published Paterson’s) – [addendum: copy in British Library – catalogue entry here.]

Summer Reading

Need I say more? Could any author want more than to find their book was the chosen reading for someone’s sunny Saturday afternoon?

A Social History of Amateur Music-Making and Scottish National Identity: Scotland’s Printed Music 1880-1951

Image courtesy of Lovaig Music

‘Mind Your Ps and Qs’, Nana said. (She never mentioned the S)

I have just wasted half a day, and I’m mad at myself. There I was this morning, sitting upstairs in the Heritage Collections reading room, and going through a box of papers labelled ‘Stock’. Not initially of huge interest – until I realised that I had been presented with a snapshot of a year from the stock manager’s viewpoint, enabling me to see which Thomas Nelson titles were out of stock or reprinting at various points in the year. All I had to do was work out the catalogue numbers for the titles I was interested in, and then see which ones came up in the lists, and how often. This was just a little bit more interesting!

Random warehouse (Pixabay)

I had almost worked through the entire box before lunch, and at that point, I was going to attend a seminar. Indeed, I did attend the seminar, and very good it was, too.

But in between the contentedly sifting through papers, and the contentedly attending an excellent seminar, I took it into my head to have one last search for a photo of the editor whose picture I have not yet traced. (It’s the kind of thing that enlivens a PowerPoint presentation.) Reader, I went to the Internet Archive, otherwise known as Archive.org. I’m not going to warn you off going to that website, because I fear that what happened next was all my own fault. I think I typed it in the plural, confusing it with the Archives Hub. Suddenly, I was asked to prove I wasn’t a robot. It did occur to me that they must have tightened up security, because I didn’t remember having to do that before. I obediently ticked the box.

As I said, I think it was my fault, if I mistyped the web address. But what I’m most annoyed about, is a perfectly promising afternoon being wasted by my typing an extra letter – if that’s what I did. I don’t think I’ll be mistyping that particular address ever again!