Radio Favorites

A survey of U. S. taste in radio programs with a list of the twelve best-liked acts was published last week in Variety. tradesheet of the entertainment industry. The twelve radio favorites, determined by reports from Variety's 150 widely-scattered correspondents:

Headliner Sponsor

Eddie Cantor Chase & Sanborn Coffee

Ed Wynn Texas Corp.

Jack Pearl Lucky Strike Cigarets

Amos 'n' Andy Pepsodent Toothpaste

Burns & Allen with Guy Lombardo's Orchestra Robert Burns Cigars

Jack Benny with Ted Weems' Orchestra and Mary Livingstone Canada Dry Ginger

Rudy Vallee with variety talent Fleischmann's Yeast

Ben Bernie Blue Ribbon Malt

Ruth Etting, Boswell Sisters. Arthur Tracy with Nat Shilkret's Orchestra Chesterfield Cigarets

Kate Smith La Palina Cigars

Al Jolson General Motors' Chevrolet program

Myrt & Marge Wrigley's Chewing Gum

Radio's big programs used to be preponderantly musical but now, according to Variety's survey, comedians hold the first six places. Different parts of the country have different favorites. The South still prefers Amos 'n' Andy who used to be national favorites. The Northwest prefers the German lingo of Jack Pearl. Eddie Cantor leads in New England and the Middle West. Ed Wynn won in Chicago.

Only in Canada is important preference given to radio's most serious offerings: the New York Philharmonic-Symphony, the Philadelphia Orchestra, the Metropolitan Opera Company. In the U. S. popularity count, the only one of these to be listed is the Philharmonic. It got 15th place, the March of TIME 19th place.

Dancer from Hindustan

When a Hindu bows to applause he puts the palms of his hands together under his nose, bends forward as deeply and reverently as if he were addressing deity. When Hindus want music they summon someone who can play one of India's many kinds of guitar or one of India's many drums. When Hindus want to see their native dances done in the most authentic, polished fashion they seek out the Hindu Dancer Uday Shankar, protege of the late Maharaja of Jhalawar. who studied at the London Royal College of Arts, forsook painting to dance with the late Anna Pavlowa. forsook Pavlowa to research the old dances and music of Hindustan.

Because Uday Shankar was in Manhattan with his Hindu troupe for the first time last week, a great deal of reverent bowing was done there, a great deal of weird-sounding thrumming and drum-spanking. The curtain went up on Shankar's eight brightly-turbaned musicians, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the stage, 56 different instruments within reach. Drums shaped like picturesque vases, stringed instruments with necks almost as fat as their queer little bodies, gongs as bright as gold-pieces and serpentine horns made the music for Shankar to dance to. It was delicate, highly refined music for the most part which, with its single thread of melody, might have sounded monotonous to Occidental ears but for the drummers tapping and slapping a swift, intricate counterpoint, and for Shankar.

Shankar, a perfectly proportioned male with a sensitive, feminine face, arranges his dances with a canny understanding of the theatre, dances them with every one of his slippery muscles. He is a flirtatious lover, coquettishly throwing his neck out of joint to impress his Partner Simkie. an almost equally sinuous Frenchwoman (the only Occidental in the troupe) who can throw her neck out of joint too, now that she has lived and danced with Orientals. Shankar is an exciting, malevolent snake-charmer, crouching in one spot, wriggling his wrists, his thumbs, his little fingers. He is a strange, aloof god, teaching the lesser gods how to dance; a grotesquely masked chief of the demons strutting a ludicrous battle against his twelve-year-old Brother Robindra masked as a foolish little king of the monkeys.

Shankar and his troupe were slated for a tour through the West and South but their Manhattan success last week made them consider a run at a Broadway theatre instead, with side trips to Boston and Philadelphia.

Trouble at the Met

During the sad second act of Madame Butterfly last week, irrepressible titters rippled through the audience at Manhattan's Metropolitan Opera House. Buddy Rhode, a yellow-haired child of 4. was playing the part of Trouble, the baby born to Cio-Cio-San after Pinkerton, the U. S. naval lieutenant, deserts her. The audience tittered because Buddy Rhode was obviously so excited by his surroundings that any moment he might become too much for Cio-Cio-San (Soprano Elizabeth Rethberg) and Suzuki, the nurse (Contralto Ina Bourskaya) to manage.*

In the last act Buddy Rhode had become far too excited to feign sleep as he had been ordered to do after watching supposedly all night for Pinkerton's return. When Cio-Cio-San heard of Pinkerton's marriage to a white woman, became wildly excited and flourished a dagger at scarey-looking old Goro, the marriage broker, frightened Buddy Rhode fled the stage. Suzuki brought him back for Cio-Cio-San's farewell but by that time Buddy Rhode was sobbing so realistically that he had to be carried off stage for good. As soon as Cio-Cio-San stabbed herself the curtain was dropped. Pinkerton and his U. S. wife never came on for the opera's last scene because Buddy Rhode was in no condition to sit crooning amiably'with a U. S. flag in his hand, waiting to be adopted. He explained afterwards that he was afraid some one was going to "hurt the pretty lady."

*For a stage child, the Metropolitan, like most opera companies, prefers to use a doll or a midget when one is available. Midgets sometimes act too well. Rehearsing for her London debut as Norma four summers ago, Soprano Rosa Ponselle found her small stage-son embarrassingly responsive to her caresses, inquired his age, learned he was 19.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.