STILL SHINING

Evening Star, Issue 19044, 12 September 1925, Page 15

STILL SHINING

A STAR OF YESTERYEAR INTERVIEW WITH JAKE FRIEDMAN “ I don’t like jazz. It is a monotonous strain of music, with a sickening sameness about it that doesn’t appeal to me. The songs of to-day will bo all forgotten in a month. Give me a good, serious heart song, with a clean story in it. That is better than all _ tho bucolic ‘ Blues ’ and jingling jazz—infinitely to be preferred to that modern piffle that lias successfully tricked multitudes into the belief that it is music.” This is not an excerpt from some frenzied puritan in matters musical; no. it is the opinion expressed by one who has but two years to go when ho will be celebrating his half-century’s connection with the stage—the music hall stago, too. If the judgment savors a little of puritanical harshness, it must be remembered that it was expressed by one who sincerely believes that there is something sacrosanct about many of the old-time vaudeville melodies. • This ‘‘fundamentalist,” this ultra-conserva-tivo in vaudeville ditties—er, songs, is Mr Jake Friedman, one of the Veterans of Variety who are bringing smiles to the lips, tears to the eyes, and palpitations to the cardiacal regions of Princess patrons. Mr Friedman is all sparkle, and syphonically sizzles with witticisms and anecdotes, and in general has a ‘‘go-getting” look about him that suggests he is Far from the veteran stage yet. He insists, however, that ho is a “veteran,” having documentary evidence, evidently, to show that the term fits anybody who has had twenty-one years’ service in his profession, “ And you know I hare had a of a lot longer time than that at my game,” he added with a gusto that almost belied his statement. THIRTY-FOUR YEARS AGO. An ‘Evening Star’ representative, in tho course of a chat with Mr Friedman, found him with a magnifying glass glued to his eye. That this "was not somo comedy stunt of his was shown _ by tho business glint in the comedian’s eyes by the diamond, a beautiful, _sparkling mite that dazzled tho intruder as much as did the oidtimer’s subsequent sallies and subtlctis. Tho stage is a very serious business, but those engaged in the profession always apparently find time for one hobby or so, and Mr Friedman has bis, though lie confesses that it is suited to tiic tastes of a millionaire more than to a humble and bard-working Thespian. Yes, I’ve boon hero before,” said Mr Friedman, after ho had satisfactorily disposed of tho interviewer’s queries anont diamonds and where and how they are to bo picked tip. “I played panto, then, and, lor 1 bless me, I was through the street to-day, and I don’t believe there’s been any change. The theatre looks just about the same as when I left it. I played the smalls in “ cighty-nino,” and well I remember an experience I had in Otnki with the Maoris. Just before the show began f went to tlio ticket office, and ventured tho remark to the man a per that there was “ a good house.” “ No pood house at all,” ho replied testily. That seemed rather strange, as the place was nearly full, but I later discovered that the Maoris, who always carried their children about with them in a blanket on their backs, had succeeded in bringing their men folic into tho hall in the same manner, and, of course, about half the audience wore ‘ dead heads.’ ” MORE KUDOS THAN CASH. If Mr Friedman had Seymour Hicks's Hair for getting between tlio covers of books no doubt ho would have had half-ar-dozen volumes crammed with his own stories and experiences, because half-an-hour’s conversation with him would yield to the most finicky, or the least enterprising of ancedote-seek-ors sufficient “copy ” for a lively chapter or two. And hero are a few that the visitor “ put across ” the reporter, though tho term itself savoring us it docs of the land of ragtime, jazz, and saxophonics might be subjected to attention from Mr Friedman’s blue pencil. “I once appeared for Mr Harry Rickards at a salary of a “ fiver ” a week, as substitute for Ms imported character-actor John Bourke. A'Sydncy paper was generous enough to state that ‘ John Bourke was never better.’ That was all very well and very flattering of course, but John’s salary was £BO per week, and all I got was tho miserable ‘fiver’ and a, lot of kudos. The latter was not much good to mo either, because tlio fact that a substitution was made was kept a secret. After I finished with Rickards I started a. suburban show all on my own, and later wont to ‘ Handsome George ’ Ripnold with tho brilliant suggestion that I should put on an harlequinade—there were such things in those days. VVo had a lot of argument about terms, and I made a solemn promise that ‘ I wouldn’t be more of a highway robber than I could help.’ But when I modestly suggested £SO as tho full salary for my ‘company and myself George shrieked : ‘ Highway robber; why you’re a bally murderer.’ At the finish I got £lO. Thee, my racial business instincts got a chance. I went to a whisky linn and got a cheque for £SO and a rase of whisky for introducing a little boy dressed as a bottle with their whisky label attached introduced into the sketch. The whisky I disposed of to my landlord. A beautiful little deal that was, wasn’t it? Another concern gave me £25 down and £o weekly, and the first week- when I called in for my money T grumbled so much about climbing the stairs to their office to collect that they felt moved to part up with another £3O cash.” CYCLORAMA’S WATERLOO. Mr Friedman, seeking a change from the harlequinade, entered into partnership in a cyclorama, that crude precursor of tho kincma. It was all gore and glory, and altogether a ludicrous affair, but attracted armies of openmontbed spectators who f easted on that garish old shocker, concentrating at the spots where the killing was the greatest. At tho conclusion of his season ho was given a benefit, but it had a sad, sail ending. Near the close of the performance, just when tho cardboard cannon had swept all before them, tlio lights failed, and candles bad to bo procured from the neighboring grocers. Soon after midnight ho was roused at his hotel with the ominous request Ju “come and look at the fire.” Tho Battle of Waterloo, alas and alack, had gone up in smoke, and soi incidentally, had Mr Friedman’s manuscripts and properties. As far as New Zealand is concerned, Mr Friedman remembers us chiefly by the fact that he once caught a 171 b snapper in Auckland Harbor, though he also had recollections of the climate. He is convinced that the “ whole atmospherics are changing,” emphasising the porn, with a gesture that suggested he had landed in Iceland “ There am I with this great English overcoat on. Yes, the whole climate has gone oddly out of gear since I was hero last.” He wrathfully spurned the suggestion, delicately made, that ft,was he and not the climate that had changed, stating that he was “ younger than ever. ’ And then, after this interlude about the weather, lie told more reminiscences of those far-off days which belonged to a veritable golden ago, and the opportunity afforded him of unloading these stories, splashed with the color and charged with the ineffable spirit of his Utloved nineties, uo doubt provided somo solace for our chillsomc “ atmospherics.” Mr Friedman has a wondrous fund of stories that deal with ! his painful struggliugs up tim vaudeI ville ladder of fame. Most of all he I liked to tell of the innumerable times

that he became “broke” _ in the “glorious days” when theatrical corn-j panics did the “smalls” of Australia per medium of bullock wagons, when, if there happened to be a theatre where the “caravan” rested, ho was frequently forced to sleep in the building, not because of any groat fondness lor the boards, but out of sheer economic necessity. It was not always a battle with poverty, however, as Mr h Hodman was the first English _ manager to see the commercial possibilities of revue, his first production being ‘ Happy Holland,’ this and another piece keeping the home fires burning for iourtoen years. “ In those clays,” he declared, “ a ‘ revue ’ was what it should be, a 1 review ’; but that idea has been lost sight of in this jazzy ago of ours.” Mr Friedman stated that his little company was formed three years ago in v n.-rlnrd. rind bad mot with a tremendous success everywhere. Ho was cnaouuc uie other, members of the quintet, reserving not a few of ids

I ;nost graceful encomiums for his wife, 1 iiss Lilv Burnand, who was one ot .hula nds most dashing principal boys • hir tv-five years ago, and who, ayeis Mr Friedman, is still ‘ a wonder, an pinion that those who have seen her i.i the Princess will whole-licai tedly ■oucur in. ~ , . , In bidding farewell, Mr _ I'nodman said that lie would pay a visit to Dunedin again, even ii be had to wait anchor thirty-four years to do so. “You mow, I come from a family who think .milling of living tn IUU, and J feel ; .nre I'll collect one of those things Hobbs is so fond of making.”