Who Paid for All those Free Concerts…? You Got to Be Kidding! By Thomas Wolf
1942 was a watershed year for the labor movement in America. It was the beginning of what turned out to be one of the longest labor strikes in American history—an action that would have a profound impact on the availability of free concerts just about anywhere in the United States and Canada. And it all happened because of a misjudgment on the part of some well-heeled corporate executives – the men who ran America’s immensely successful record companies.
One of the longest labor actions in American history was a musicians strike against the recording industry that began in 1942. It lasted more than two years.
The “author” of the strike was James Petrillo, the legendary labor boss who became head of the American Federation of Musicians in 1940. Recordings had become big business by 1940, but while musicians were generally paid to make recordings, they were not benefitting from the sale of records. Petrillo believed this was unfair and so he threatened to take on the companies by preventing any member of his musicians union from making a recording if royalties did not start to flow. Few people believed that Petrillo would follow through with the threat or, if he did, that union members would comply with the directive. Records were popular, especially in wartime; musicians generally received a fee when they made records, and these could add up whether or not royalties were paid. In addition, influential members of the press, many elected officials, and informed members of the public came out publicly against a strike.
Duke Ellington by photographer Gordon Parks. Ellington’s recording of “Take the A Train”—one of the popular hits recorded before musicians went on strike—indicated just how devastating a successful labor action could be to the revenues of record companies.
On the other hand, the threat of a strike had to be taken seriously. It could potentially have a significant financial impact on record companies. Think of the revenues from just a single record like Duke Ellington’s recording of “Take the A Train” made a couple of year before the strike deadline and multiply it thousands of times. It takes musicians to make such recordings and if they refused to play, revenues would dry up.
Despite wide opposition to a strike, Petrillo was undeterred and when he announced an actual date for the start of the labor action – July 31, 1942 – record companies quickly took counter measures. They began recording and stockpiling new material. Their plan was to release these recordings gradually, keeping the market supplied with new records month by month, thereby outlasting Petrillo. But they had badly underestimated the man. By October 4, 1944, more than two years after the start of the strike, union members were still not playing for the record companies. Despite a new counter measure by record companies—producing vocal-only recordings (vocalists, for the most part, were not members of the musicians union)—record companies were discovering that lacking instrumental back-up, many vocal offerings did not sell well.
At last, President Roosevelt intervened, demanding that Petrillo give in to a decision by the National Labor Relations Board and to a directive by the National War Labor Board demanding that the AFM rescind its ban on musicians recording.
Few labor leaders would have ignored a directive from a popular war-time President. But Roosevelt’s demand that Petrillo end the strike went unheeded.
Roosevelt’s telegram read in part:
In the interest of orderly government and in the interest of respecting the considered decision of the Board, I request your union to accept the directive orders of the National War Labor Board. What you regard as your loss will certainly be your country's gain.[1]
With the country at war and Roosevelt at the height of his popularity, most people thought this was the end of the story. They were wrong. Petrillo ignored the directive and the strike continued. Small companies, especially those without huge backlogs, caved first with the larger companies following thereafter. Petrillo had won. Royalties would be paid.
But now came a new challenge. How would a royalty system work? Who would administer it and who would be paid? Petrillo did not trust the record companies and company administrators certainly did not trust Petrillo. A third entity would have to be created—one that had nothing to do with either party—and it would have to be led by a man that both sides trusted. That man, as it turned out, was Samuel R. Rosenbaum, a Philadelphia attorney and banker, a mover and shaker in the music world who served on many music organization boards and whose wife, Edna Phillips, just happened to be the principal harpist of the Philadelphia Orchestra and a union member.
Samuel R. Rosenbaum, the first trustee of the Music Performance Trust Fund, had the confidence both of the record company executives on the one hand and Petrillo and his musician members on the other. It didn’t hurt that Rosenbaum’s wife, Edna Phillips, was the principal harpist of the Philadelphia Orchestra and a union member. Photo by Bachrach.
Rosenbaum had been active in labor relations with musicians for many years having served in 1937 as Chairman of the Labor Committee of the National Association of Broadcasters when he was President of Philadelphia radio station WFIL. During his tenure, he was credited with hammering out an agreement that prevented a national strike by network musicians. He also was called in to settle a strike of the National Symphony Orchestra musicians in the early 1940s.[2] When Rosenbaum was approached, he was willing to take on the challenge on one condition. He would draft a Trust agreement but somewhere in that document it had to state quite explicitly that Petrillo approved of his selection. According to Rosenbaum’s son Hugh, Petrillo’s comment to his musician members was quoted directly and verbatim in a footnote in the original trust agreement: “If he is okay wid youse guys, he is okay wid me.”[3]
On December 11, 1948, the New York Times announced Rosenbaum’s appointment and musicians must have felt vindicated when he was quoted as saying, “It was not surprising that musicians should protest the loss of employment resulting from the use of disks which they themselves had made.” But as a signal to the record companies that he was not simply a union firebrand, he added reasonably, “There is an economic and human problem which must be approached with tolerance and understanding.” But more than his words, Rosenbaum’s track record in settling labor disputes was the balm that the manufacturer’s were seeking.
Go set up an office, Rosenbaum was told. We’ll collect the money for you and you figure out how to spend it. The new leader did so—renting an office across from New York’s Penn Station so that he could commute back and forth easily from his home in Philadelphia.
Thus, in a unique compromise fashioned by Rosenbaum, a structure was approved by all parties. Royalties would be assigned to the new nonprofit corporation headed by Sam (as he soon came to be known across the industry). It would be independent of both the record companies and the union. Its mission was “to provide admission-free, live, quality music, performed by professional musicians to the public of all backgrounds throughout the United States and Canada.”[4] The Music Performance Trust Fund (MPTF) would “seek to enrich the lives of the general public, young and old, through music and to contribute to the public’s knowledge and appreciation of music.” It went without saying that those musicians would be members of the musicians union. And by 2023, after tens of thousands of free concerts underwritten by MPTF, the Fund celebrates its 75th year with its mission largely unchanged.
Samuel Rosenbaum ended up administering the fund from its inception in 1948 until 1970, two years before his death at the age of 84. So successful were the Fund’s first couple of years that on January 31, 1950, the New York Times reported that the union was giving up its own free concert program and turning it over to Rosenbaum. As the money flowed in, it was initially difficult to arrange enough concerts to keep up with the growing resources but eventually Rosenbaum would brag to his son Hugh and others, “MPTF is now the largest employer of musicians in this country.” Whether true or not, it was certainly enhancing performing opportunities (and income) for many musicians.
As the Fund’s leader and visionary, Sam was prescient. Long before others saw the need for the development of new audiences, he anticipated a looming audience crisis in the music business and saw the development of appreciative audiences as key to the success of his program. As a result, the emphasis was to be on free concerts that were available to the broadest possible public—in schools, public parks, grange halls—almost anywhere that ordinary people gathered. Fancy concert halls were a lower priority.
Sam Rosenbaum delivering one of countless speeches around the country urging community leaders to provide local matching support to programs sponsored by MPTF (photo courtesy Joan Rosenbaum Solaun).
Rosenbaum also anticipated several other important trends. One was the concept of matching funds—having others put in money for the concerts that MPTF sponsored. Long before the National Endowment for the Arts made matching money a part of its grantmaking approach, Rosenbaum was on the road, persuading municipal officials, business people, and others in cities and towns throughout the United States to contribute to the cost of concerts. According to his son, he would argue that every community needed musical culture in order to be attractive to those who lived there and others who might consider moving there, whether individuals or businesses.
The mechanism of Sam’s matching system was shrewd as well—he required that local funds be paid not to the musicians directly but to MPTF and the Fund in turn would pay the full cost of the musician fees. In this way, the impact of the Fund’s dollars would be greatly magnified and, very importantly, the musicians would see their entire fee coming in a check from the Fund. Those checks carried Rosenbaum’s signature, signed by machine, but in order to ensure their authenticity, a tiny harp was printed at the bottom of each check—a humorous honoring of Rosenbaum’s harpist wife.
Edna Phillips, principal harpist of the Philadelphia Orchestra and wife of Samuel Rosenbaum. To honor her, he had a tiny harp printed at the bottom of every check issued by the MPTF.
In talking to Sam’s son Hugh, I discovered something I had never known. When I told him that I had benefitted from a number of MPTF concerts in which I performed and was paid, he confessed that he had as well (Hugh is also a musician). “But,” he said, “my father made sure the check was never made out to me in my own name.” On the other hand, Sam had no compunction about funding many concerts put on by an organization headed by his wife Edna called Young Audiences, and to this day that organization’s programs are often made possible with MPTF funds. And in yet another twist of nepotistic fate, my mother Irene co-chaired the Philadelphia chapter of Young Audiences and with Sam’s permission regularly scheduled me in MPTF programs. Concern for conflict of interest, it seems, only extended so far.
As communities opened up after the most intense period of the COVID pandemic, MPTF played an important role in encouraging audiences to attend musical programs once again. This concert, sponsored by MPTF together with the American Federation of Musicians Local 174-496, helped keep the music flowing in the New Orleans community (photo courtesy of the Musician Performance Trust Fund and the French Quarter Festival)
Over time, technological changes began to have a profound impact on the record business and indirectly on MPTF. Records gave way to CDs and led to a major increase in revenues as buyers updated their collections from vinyl. But the glory days were short-lived. Physical sales began to slow and then hit a wall when it became possible for consumers to download music. Piracy was a major problem in the early days of the internet resulting in further diminishment of revenue for MPTF. According to Dan Beck, the current Trustee of MPTF, the revenue trends in the new millennium raised serious issues about the actual viability of the Fund. But it was a crisis that was far greater than the fate of MPTF. Musicians and recording companies were suffering and a solution needed to be found. Happily, a new agreement was forged as recording companies stabilized their own agreements over streaming royalties for downloaded musical content. The Fund’s budget recovered, increasing five-fold from its low point, and once again its staff continues to provide money to musicians throughout North America for the free concerts it sponsors.
So happy 75th birthday to the Musician Performance Trust Fund. May it continue its great work for at least the next three quarters of a century!
[1] 1942–1944 musicians' strike - Wikipedia (accessed January 18, 2023)
[2] Mary Sue Welsh, One Woman in a Hundred: Edna Philips and the Philadelphia Orchestra, Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2013, pp. 205-206
[3] Conversation with Hugh Rosenbaum (January 19, 2023)
[4] https://musicpf.org/about/ (accessed January 17, 2023)