Popular Songs and Unpopular Prohibition
By WALTER E. COLBY
EVER since Adam and Eve, appearing in the Garden Theatre, warbled a little interpolation of their own entitled, "In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree," and were cancelled for putting in business not in the show, it has been generally conceded that the chief ingredients of a regular good time were Wine, Woman and Song. It is a combination that has never failed to work, has stood the test of time and, in the last analysis, left little to be desired. Now and then you have run across a man who sort of specialized in one or the other, but even they mixed 'em up at times. Nat Goodwin could sing a little, and Old Omar Khayyam's idea of supreme happiness was, "A flask of wine . . . and Thou beside me, singing." There's your combination in a nutshell. The Old Troubadours loved a drink from the glass and a wink from a lass, and to-day, if you mix a sip of rare vintage, milady's smile and a bit of a Hungarian rhapsody, you're gone.
It's always been the same—Wine, Woman and Song, and will be—until next July. After that, the combination that has been working so well for centuries is going to be all busted up by certain gentlemen who say, "You will have to substitute something for wine." Substitute what? Think of "Bevo, Woman and Song,"—"Nut Sundaes, Woman and Song." Substitute your eye, there is no substitute, and for our part we'll get along, if we have to, with just woman and song and let it go at that, although, of course, we'll all have to play the two a little stronger to make up for what we have lost.
What will we have to sing about after the wine is gone, you ask? You'll find enough. In fact, with more than half the country dry now and the rattling of the dry bones of bone dry prohibition plainly heard there has never been such a demand for popular songs. And that's only natural. "Whistle and forget your troubles."
What are you going to whistle? A popular song, of course. Nothing is going to help chase the July blues so much as the popular song. If you don't believe it, wait and see. You're not going to sit around and mope and sulk because you can't have a high ball. You're going to put "Come On, Papa" on the old victrola and have a laugh, or bang
(Continued on next page)
