Performance in the Pacific Northwest

The theatre phone was an early communications device that enabled audiences to tune into live opera broadcasts, first used in colonial British Columbia around 1893, when a local telecommunications company installed receivers in the rafters of the New Westminster opera house, transmitting a performance of Gilbert & Sullivan’s The Pirates of Penzance (1879).

Opera by Telephone

Research by Matthew Tomkinson

Introduction

History

Reactivations

Media

Discussion

Bibliography

Introduction

During my recent visit to the archives in New Westminster, I was fortunate enough to locate a fascinating document — namely, the scrapbooks of William Andrew DeWolf-Smith, a prominent historical figure in the city. As a physician, a musician, and a patron of the arts, DeWolf-Smith played a pivotal role in the development of New Westminster’s theatre scene, particularly through his management of Herring’s Opera House and his tenure as president of the New Westminster Operatic Society. As Elydah Joyce notes, DeWolf-Smith became the head surgeon of the British Columbia Penitentiary in 1888. In his role, he propagated racial stereotypes by classifying the supposed “flaws” of his non-white patients. As such, his work as a physician contributed to a larger white settler narrative about naturalized racial differences, serving as a justification for colonization (90). This context is important for understanding DeWolf-Smith’s contribution to the performing arts, and the cultural imperialism of British opera, which arrived in New Westminster at the height of Canada’s nation-building era.

Of the two books I located, “Scrapbook Two” (labeled “LITERARY SCRAPS”) is most relevant. Spanning 1887-1896, it presents a curious mixture of medical articles, theatre reviews, and other assorted clippings. This scrapbook contains an extensive collection of newspaper articles that DeWolf-Smith accumulated, many of which pertain to an amateur production of Gilbert and Sullivan’s 1879 comic opera The Pirates of Penzance, staged locally in 1895, the same year that the radio was invented (Daily News-Advertiser on April 26th). The show was directed by F. Victor Austin, a local conductor, and “supplemented by the untiring efforts” of W.H. Falding, a member of the New Westminster Military Band.

At first glance, I discounted this material as merely one of many popular Gilbert and Sullivan productions prevalent during the time period. However, while reading these articles about Penzance more closely, I was struck by one throwaway passage that mentions an “ingenious telephone arrangement” that allowed remote audience members to listen to these performances via telephone (Daily News-Advertiser, April 25th). As a sound studies scholar, this peculiar piece of media history immediately turned my ear, prompting me to look further into local examples of this phenomenon and the communications technologies involved. In order to provide a wide-ranging overview of the artifact, I have opted to structure this forum piece as a series of shorter sections addressing a few key themes.

History

The scrapbook, though an intriguing artifact on its own, directs our attention to another object of historical significance: a telephone employed for the purpose of listening to live theatrical performances. This particular object serves as just one component within a wider transnational communications network.

The device in question has variously been called a “théâtrophone,” “electrophone,” “theatre phone,” or simply “telephone.” The newspaper articles mentioned above tend to use the latter term, though this technology had already been around for over a decade at the time of the Penzance performance, having been invented in 1881 by Clément Ader in Paris.

This local broadcast of Penzance sits within a larger historical context of Gilbert and Sullivan broadcasts, since the artists themselves are associated with the birth of opera-via-telephone. As Ian Bradley suggests, both W.S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan had theatre phones installed in their homes in the early 1880s, and a relayed performance of Iolanthe (1882) on May 13th, 1883 was “probably the first ever ‘broadcast’ of an opera” (176). Here, it is worth reiterating the extent to which such operas “provided a potent musical link between the colonies and the motherland,” as Jeffrey Richards observes (33). “Nothing is more symptomatic of the centrality of Gilbert and Sullivan to imperial culture,” writes Richards, “than the fact that their operettas were performed during the Siege of Mafeking to keep up the spirits of the defenders” (41).

Though this technology was comparatively late to arrive in BC, its first local adopter claimed it as his own invention. According to G.C. Hodge, who was a superintendent for the Burrard Inlet and New Westminster Telephone Company: “I equipped what I claim was the first radio in these parts. You see there was some kind of an opera or some theatrical company, at New Westminster. So I rigged up a dozen or so receivers in the rafters, and the people at the other end listened in on their receivers” (274). This was for an unnamed performance in 1893, which appears to be the first experiment of this sort, which Hodge repeated in 1895 with Penzance after a cable was strung “across the Fraser and connected up with the U.S. telephone lines” (275).


An unnamed journalist from the
Daily News-Advertiser of April 26th, 1895, provides further details about the technologies involved: “The music was transmitted by means of the long distance and Blake transmitters and could be heard at some times with great distinctness.” The “Blake transmitter” refers to an early telephone transmitter patented by American inventor Francis Blake in 1879. The device used a carbon diaphragm to transform electrical signals into sound waves, and when G.C. Hodge was said to “adjust” these transmitters, it meant tightening or slackening a piece of metal against the carbon block until a clear sound was heard (or whatever one might have considered to be “clear” at the time). An early telephone engineer named F. C. Allsop suggests that these transmitters were sensitive enough to pick up whispers and birds in the trees outside (Estreich).

The positioning of these receivers in the rafters suggests a very particular kind of aural vantage point, particularly if twelve of them were positioned overhead. Presumably, each line sent separate audio signals to corresponding receivers (rather than all twelve feeding into one). By comparison, concurrent uses of the theatre phone in Paris were sometimes transmitted in proto-stereo, with one transmitter on either side of the stage sending separate signals to two monophonic receivers, which could be held to both ears.

In Avant-Garde Theatre Sound: Staging Sonic Modernity (2014), sound studies scholar Adrian Curtin writes that the theatre phone “created a novel auditory and theatrical experience” that allowed telephonic audience members to be “involved yet simultaneously removed” (88). “For the first time,” adds Curtin, “theatrical reception was wholly reliant on a soundscape for a performance to become meaningful” (93). This technology, according to the author, ushered in a number of major shifts in reception. It not only facilitated the construction of a “private, imaginary sound world,” which Curtin calls “mental theatre” or “audio theatre,” but it also enabled a network of simultaneous “shadow audiences” who could participate “virtually” (93). Meanwhile, it promoted a novel form of “aural fantasy and escapism” by reproducing such events sonically within people’s homes (94).

As such, this artifact greatly enhances one’s understanding of the conditions in which theatre performances were experienced in late-nineteenth-century British Columbia. As Curtin puts it, “the theatre phone indicates that modern theatre took places; it did not simply take (a) place” (94). Indeed, there are many resonances between the virtual experience of opera-by-telephone in 1895, and the online shift toward theatre-by-Zoom during the COVID-19 pandemic. As Tanya Basu puts it: “In the fall of 1881, the world was introduced to livestreaming” (The Theatrephone).

The Performance

According to Chad Evans in Frontier Theatre, “New Westminster provided the finest amateur opera entertainment on the mainland” (171). The Pirates of Penzance was staged by the Westminster Amateur Operatic Society on April 25th and 26th of 1895 (Thursday and Friday evening). As an amateur production, the play reportedly cost three shillings, rather than the usual four or six (Budget, May 11th, 1895). As such, the show was an easy sell-out and theatregoers traveled from various local regions to attend. Special trams and boats were run between Chilliwack and New Westminster to accommodate the long trip home after the performance (Daily News-Advertiser, April 20th). As evidenced by these kinds of travel accommodations, enthusiasm for the show went far beyond casual entertainment. One journalist anticipated that “even standing room will be scarce” (Daily News-Advertiser, April 26th). Another writes: 

Local interest in the Pirates of Penzance is at fever height and the sale of tickets is enormous. The company have been compelled to go to considerable expense, inasmuch as the manager has been compelled to place a special constable at the door of each store where the tickets are on sale to prevent anyone being injured in the crush. (Daily News-Advertiser, April 20th)

After the show’s short run, the opera became the talk of the town, and apparently it was all anyone could discuss in public. Performances of Gilbert and Sullivan during the period were frequently referred to as “feverish.” An 1896 article in the Victoria Daily Colonist quotes a famous British opera singer, William T. Carleton, who speaks to the rise of a more populist form of opera:

I became associated with comic opera because I foresaw the turn of the musical tide in the public taste. Grand opera was giving way to a demand for light opera. The Pinafore fever started the ball rolling, and after the Gilbert and Sullivan craze had set in, legitimate opera had no possible chance. The odds against it were too heavy. (7)

Amateur Theatre: A Public Debate

DeWolf-Smith’s newspaper clippings reveal a heated back-and-forth between some reviewers defending the merit of the amateur production and others tearing it apart, arguing that it should be held to the same standard as professional performances. Despite the relatively avant-garde use of the theatre phone, it seems that the show’s detractors were not swayed by this new technology, since they make no mention of it in their reviews. An anonymous reviewer in
The Daily Columbian of May 18th, 1895 — who signs off as, simply, “One of the Critics” — writes the following: “As an amateur of many years’ experience myself, I certainly am of the opinion that, without criticism, genuine and unbiased, amateur acting simply becomes a refuge for poseurs and incompetent, untrained, and unsuitable ranters.” With a similar air of dutifulness, another reviewer for The Province of May 11th, 1895, writes: “Do amateurs incur no responsibility in undertaking to interpret an author or composer to the public? The amateur, to the extent of his abilities, should be no less an artist than the professional.” 

Evidently, these viewpoints ran contrary to popular opinion, since the most contentious critics chose to hide behind pen names such as “Judith,” “Frederick,” and “Fraser Rivers.”

The Broadcast

The performance was simultaneously broadcast to a surprisingly wide range of locations, including New Westminster, Vancouver, Ladner, Cloverdale, Whatcom, and Seattle. On the second night of the performance, the show was also broadcast to St. Mary’s Hospital in New Westminster, which was just five blocks away from the Opera House (I discuss this latter context at length in Section VIII).

The broadcast was a cooperative effort between a number of telephone operators, including Mr. W.F. Salisbury (secretary of the New Westminster & Burrard Inlet Telephone Company) and Miss E.O. Sieckert (manager of the Sunset Telephone Company in Whatcom). 

Multiple sources describe the telephone transmission as an exclusive invite-only arrangement, indicating that the remote audiences were made up of “a few privileged persons” (Daily News-Advertiser, April 26th). It would appear that the final destination of these transmissions was, in most cases, the telephone offices themselves, where journalists would also gather to report on this new novelty.

Receiver and Reception

“Despite the fact that the microphones were positioned on or near the stage,” writes Curtin, “the theatre phone transmitted the sonic environment of the auditorium (at least in part), which may have been a contributory factor to its appeal” (93). Firsthand accounts of the Penzance production report that the performance was followed by an encore, during which the entire audience sang “God Save the Queen” (Daily News-Advertiser, April 26th). Though there are no reports of this particular section being heard over the telephone, one imagines that the remote listener heard the entire performance from beginning to end, including this singalong.

For such a large production, featuring 50 voices and a 20-piece orchestra, it is difficult to imagine such an abundance of musical information coming across clearly over the telephone. And yet, one listener reported that “the various numbers of the opera were distinctly heard” (Daily Columbian, April 26th). Echoing this sentiment, another listener writes: “The rattling choruses and the immediately following thunders of applause were heard with immense satisfaction by well wishers of the Westminster Operatic Society in this city” (Daily News Advertiser, April 26th). 

Across the border in Whatcom, roughly 100 kilometres away, a small audience of three people gathered to listen to Penzance. A reporter from the local paper reveals that three Blake transmitters were used, and the experiment was a success: “according to the evidence of the ’phone, it was a splendid performance” (Daily Columbian, May 2nd). It is worth noting that the same reporter’s evaluation of the soundscape takes a sudden turn toward gender hierarchies and male chauvinism. He writes that the “choruses, quartettes, trios, duets, baritone and tenor solos were distinctly transmitted, but the lighter voices of the ladies, except in the upper octaves, were not so satisfactory” (May 2nd). Continuing on, he adds: “the overture by the orchestra after the first act was perfectly audible, and the applause, the unmistakable racket of the gallery giddies, and the whistle of the ‘newsies’ were amusingly clear; the ’phone resounded with the tones of the stage manager as that functionary called the boys down and cautioned them to applaud by simply clapping their hands” (May 2nd). 

It is hardly possible to reconstruct the sound fidelity of the evening based on such reports. What does the word “distinct” communicate, for example? Indeed, Curtin writes that Marcel Proust “admitted to having once mistaken a noisy crowd for an aria” until he “suddenly realized it was the interval” (91). That the reporter above should blame the “lighter voices of the ladies” for being unsatisfactory, rather than the technology itself, is both telling and troubling. This implicit gendering of the theatre phone — the notion that it is better suited to male voices — is consistent with Christine Ehrick’s observation that, historically, “women’s voices have remained largely outside of the realm of what [R. Murray Schafer] calls ‘signal’” (n.pag). If patriarchy, as Ehrick suggests, “tunes our ears to listen to certain voices differently,” then the theatre phone only helped to naturalize such imbalances in gendered perception (n.pag).

Proxemics

At the same time as this amateur production of Penzance caused a stir among critics who wished to debate its merit, it also raised questions about the audience’s tastes and standards. Recalling Adrian Curtin’s remark that theatre phones reveal how performances “took places” in the plural, another reporter from The Province (May 11th, 1895) indirectly observes that “the audience” is also a pluralistic entity, going so far as to taxonomize its various classes, as he sees them: 

The average theatre audience, assembled to witness the production of a creditable work, may be divided into three classes: First, there are the few who, having made a serious study of music or the drama, or both, can only be satisfied by a high standard of excellence; then the main portion of the audience, who are there merely for entertainment; and lastly the “gallery” or “gods”; these delight in robust action and display of lung power, and hold in supreme contempt whatever savors of affectation or overdrawn sentiment. They are watchful of every movement on the stage, unless some local episode proves more attractive, in which case the stage is ignored; and they are heartlessly impartial in giving unmistakable evidence of their approval or disapproval of what is done. These three classes view the performance from widely different standpoints, and each rightly looks for the satisfaction of its tastes, which it is the business of the performers to provide.

Ironically, this reporter fails to mention a fourth class of theatre audience, which is exemplified perfectly by the very play he is describing — in other words, the telephonic audience of Penzance. Where, I wonder, does opera by telephone fit into this writer’s categorization of theatregoers? If one is to conflate an audience member’s taste with their proximity from the stage, as this writer seems to do, then where does the remote listener fit into this equation? Are they among the serious members of the first class because of the exclusivity of their listening situation? Or are they entertainment seekers, like the second class? Clearly, the telephonic audience also shares the third class’s investment in lung power, as per the earlier comment about the lightness of certain voices. No doubt these classifications are artificial to begin with, and could be ascribed to any audience member at any distance. However, the theatre phone opened up an entirely new category of reception. As Curtin puts it: “For the first time, theatrical reception was wholly reliant on a soundscape for a performance to become meaningful” (93). The telephonic listener enjoyed the event vicariously in the form of a “private, unidirectional encounter” that carried an extra thrill of eavesdropping (93). One imagines that the rapid-fire patter songs of Penzance were not transmitted losslessly from one lo-fi receiver to another, in which case the question of what was meaningful is thoroughly wrapped up with what was intelligible. Given that most first-hand descriptions of the transmission focus primarily on sound quality, it is clear that the medium was, if not the message, then at least the major focal point.

The Theatre Phone as an Accessibility Tool

According to an article in The Daily Columbian (April 26th, 1895), the theatre made arrangements to “connect the Opera House with St. Mary’s hospital in order that patients there may enjoy tonight’s performance.” Another article in The Daily World from the following day provides more detail: 

A very considerate departure was made yesterday in connecting two of the wards of St. Mary’s hospital with the Opera House, so as to enable some of the patients to enjoy the opera. The treat was unexpected and appreciated. The various numbers of the opera were distinctly heard. The sick were very grateful to the Telephone Company and to G.C. Hodge, the local manager, who spared no pains.

Interestingly enough, the cultural migration of the theatre phone is closely linked to disability and accessibility. According to Curtin, the arrival of the theatre phone in England was prompted by the personal situation of Albert Edward, the Prince of Wales, who “initiated the introduction of the electrophone to England as a result of being invalided” (91). The establishment of a telephone connection between St. Mary’s hospital and the Opera House demonstrates an early commitment to providing access to live performances. No doubt, this was also a public display of what this new technology could achieve. With much to prove, and much to gain, such painstaking labour and considerateness on behalf of the telephone company was surely as much about emotional advertising as it was about philanthropy.

The Theatre Phone as a Business Opportunity

As one reporter writes: “Those at the several distant points named who enjoyed the privilege of hearing the music freely expressed delight and surprise, and were unanimous in testifying the efficiency of the service, which reflects great credit upon the N.W. & B. I, Telephone Company” (Daily Columbian, April 26th). At a time when telephone companies were still being established, and a decade before these devices would be installed in people’s homes, the theatre phone was as much a product as it was an artistic platform. As Curtin says, “Not only was this a great novelty, it was a great business opportunity” (88). He adds: “The fact that the theatre phone lasted as long as it did and became a commercial venture in a number of countries suggests that it had more than a novelty value and that telephonic auditorship offered its own rewards, even if one of its end results was to supplement or encourage theatre attendance” (92). Given the limited telephonic audience for Penzance, it remains uncertain whether the device had a significant impact on theatre attendance at a local level. Indeed, it remains to be seen whether the theatre phone made additional appearances in BC opera houses, or whether Penzance was just a one-off experiment. However, it was not until the early 1930s that this device was rendered obsolete by the phonograph, suggesting the possibility of many subsequent productions. In future research, I hope to expand upon these findings and provide a more thorough account of this peculiar chapter of local media history.

Reactivations

The resources below offer examples of scholarly and/or artistic engagements with the artifact and/or its associated histories. These materials are also valuable to consult for classroom discussion and further research.

Audio Simulation of Penzance via Theatre Phone

by Matthew Tomkinson

Media

Discussion

Question 1

What resonances come to mind when considering the thematic overlap of “opera by telephone” and various forms of remote theatre in recent years?

Question 2

Beyond the popularity of the playwrights, are there any specific qualities about “The Pirates of Penzance” that make it especially conducive to telephone transmission?

Question 3

Where would you categorize the telephonic audience, according to the arbitrary hierarchy of spectatorship/auditorship (as discussed in the proxemics section)?

Question 4

How does this performance fit into broader debates about amateur theatre during the period? What do you make of the fact that this cutting-edge technology was first adopted by an amateur company?

Question 5

To what extent does this production change your perception of live theatre in the nineteenth century?

Question 6

What else was happening locally in April of 1895 and how does it reflect on the production (and vice versa)?

Question 7

In Stereophonica: Sound and Space in Science, Technology and the Arts (2021), Gascia Ouzounian writes: “The spaces of théâtrophonic transmissions even extended to the space inside the listener’s head, a space that was newly reconstituted as a stage in which musical and theatrical performances could unfold.” With this idea in mind, what is your experience of listening to the audio simulation attached to this article?

Bibliography

Basu, Tanya. “The Theatrophone: The 19th-Century Version of Livestreaming.” Mental Floss, 30 Dec. 2015, https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/72920/theatrophone-19th-century-version-livestreaming 

Collins, Paul. “Theatrophone: the 19th-century iPod.” New Scientist 197.2638 (2008): 44-45.

Ehrick, Christine. “Vocal Gender and the Gendered Soundscape: At the Intersection of Gender Studies and Sound Studies.” Sounding Out!, 2 Feb. 2015, https://soundstudiesblog.com/2015/02/02/vocal-gender-and-the-gendered-soundscape-at-the-intersection-of-gender-studies-and-sound-studies/

Evans, Chad. Frontier Theatre: A History of Nineteenth-Century Theatrical Entertainment in the Canadian Far West and Alaska. Sono Nis Press, 1983.

Estreich, Bob. “Blake Transmitter.” Bob’s Old Phones, 12 Mar., 2022,
www.telephonecollecting.org/Bobs%20phones/Pages/Essays/BlakeTransmitter/Blake%20Page%205.htm 

Gilbert W. S et al. The Complete Annotated Gilbert and Sullivan. Oxford University Press, 2016.

Joyce, Elydah. Race, Dominion, and the British Columbia Penitentiary 1879-1916. Diss. University of British Columbia, 2020.

Matthews, Major James Skitt. Early Vancouver, Vol. 3. Vancouver: City of Vancouver, 2011.

Richards, Jeffrey. Imperialism and Music: Britain 1876–1953. Manchester University Press, 2017.

The Budget. Newspaper Article. 11 May 1895. Scrapbook Two. MSS 195. William DeWolf-Smith fonds. New Westminster Museum and Archives, New Westminster, BC.

The Daily Columbian. Newspaper Article. 26 April 1895. Scrapbook Two. MSS 195. William DeWolf-Smith fonds. New Westminster Museum and Archives, New Westminster, BC. 

The Daily Columbian. Newspaper Article. 2 May 1895. Scrapbook Two. MSS 195. William DeWolf-Smith fonds. New Westminster Museum and Archives, New Westminster, BC. 

The Daily Columbian. Newspaper Article. 18 May 1895. Scrapbook Two. MSS 195. William DeWolf-Smith fonds. New Westminster Museum and Archives, New Westminster, BC. 

The Daily News-Advertiser. Newspaper Article. 20 April 1895. Scrapbook Two. MSS 195. William DeWolf-Smith fonds. New Westminster Museum and Archives, New Westminster, BC. 

The Daily News-Advertiser. Newspaper Article. 25 April 1895. Scrapbook Two. MSS 195. William DeWolf-Smith fonds. New Westminster Museum and Archives, New Westminster, BC. 

The Daily News-Advertiser. Newspaper Article. 26 April 1895. Scrapbook Two. MSS 195. William DeWolf-Smith fonds. New Westminster Museum and Archives, New Westminster, BC. 

The Daily World. Newspaper Article. 27 April 1895. Scrapbook Two. MSS 195. William DeWolf-Smith fonds. New Westminster Museum and Archives, New Westminster, BC. 

The Province. Newspaper Article. 11 May 1895. Scrapbook Two. MSS 195. William DeWolf-Smith fonds. New Westminster Museum and Archives, New Westminster, BC. 

“William T. Carlton: Something About the Famous Baritone and His Views on Standard Opera.” The Victoria Daily Colonist, 28 June 1896, Internet Archive,
https://archive.org/details/dailycolonist18960628uvic/page/n5/mode/2up