Radio Concert

In a formal drawing-room, softly rugged--the studio of Station WEAF, Manhattan--sat a score of notables in evening garb. In the broadcasting room stood John McCormack. In front of him was a microphone. He sang Adeste Fideles with quartet and orchestra, the Berceuse from Jocelyn. Then Miss Lucrezia Bori rendered LaPaloma, airs from La Traviata; then the two sang a duet from the same opera. Both were nervous at first, lacking the stimulant of a physical audience ; they warmed to their work, their voices were perfectly reproduced, even to the finest nuances of shading. Between numbers, the announcer's metallic voice jargoned, reminded the throng of ghostly listeners that the two artists made records for the Victor Co., that these records were on sale. Before Mr. McCormack sang his crowning ballad, Mother Machres, telegrams began to arrive from far states congratulating the singers. At the concert's end, the selected notables in the reception room rose and beat their palms together.

Results. Mr. McCormack was advertised ; Miss Bori was advertised; the Victor Talking Machine Co. was advertised ; millions of radio fans heard two great singers pipe their sweetest; tremors shook the frames of Broadway producers, managers. During that evening, many plush playhouse seats had been left gaping by folk who had stayed home ,to hear Miss Bori, Mr. McCormack.

Said Arthur Hammerstein, producer : "Broadway lost over $100,000 because of that concert."

Said William A. Brady, producer: "I sat with a group of people and enjoyed over the radio free of charge a program which I can only describe as gorgeous. . . . The plain truth is that we of the theatre are headed straight for ruin."

Said D. F. McSweeney, Mr. McCormack's manager: "Millions of people cannot expect to get something for nothing. . . . Arrangements will not continue as they are now."

Said Mr. McCormack: "I liked it."

Said Miss Bori: "I was scared to death."