My ancestor, Joseph Tabrar (1857-1931) was an author and composer of the British music hall. Consequently, I have become intrigued in delving beneath the stereotypes of vulgarity and intoxication within the halls to discover the unique characteristics of the predominately working class leisure pursuit, which was prevalent throughout urban Britain between the mid-19th century and First World War. The halls were a sacred space in which the working class could express their identity, and the acts performing were the forbearers of entertainment forms popular today, including stand-up comedy, pop music, and variety theatre. Though ironically, it was in fact the Royal Variety Show, set to return to our television screens next month, which helped end the popularity of the music halls.
The music halls were an outlet through which working class social and political commentary could be aired. Performers frequently criticised the Sunday closing of pubs, and often portrayed politicians as brainless, eluding to the gulf between elite concerns and those of the majority. In the song, In a Dark and Dreary Sky (1886) by George W. Hunter, a man fell down the stairs and ‘so he decided to sit as a Member of Parliament, where brains he would not need’. A sense of knowing from the audience was essential for the ironic comedy of variety acts to flourish, and so the opinions on stage had to reflect the discussions frequenting the music hall floors.
Women frequently dressed as men on stage to hold a mirror to the patriarchal British society. The audience was aware they were women, and so could perceive the hypocrisy of them only being able to engage in certain behaviours when dressed as a man. This commentary offered on contemporary British politics and society in an overtly working class space, allows an insight into how the working classes characterised themselves, and the beliefs they held. It is interesting to note, that as is the case today, popular rhetoric was bounced about within entertainment, and it was on this agreed shared culture than an identity was formed.
Though, a shared culture did not mean universal agreement. War was a particularly contentious topic within the halls, and G.H. McDermott’s hit, We Don’t Want to fight (1877) is the most famous jingoist song of the halls, with the roaring chorus unashamedly declaring ‘We’ve fought the bear before, and while we’re Britons true, The Russians shall not have Constantinople’. However, the futility of war was also raised within performances, including Fred Earle’s song When they found I was a soldier (1895) and Charles Godfrey’s On Guard (1881), which both suggest recruitment campaigns were a trickery which led not to honour, but rather a draining of morality. Officially the halls propagated government lines by becoming recruitment centres during the Boer Wars and First World War, but undertones of opposing opinions can be observed and help to reconstruct the variety of interpretations on domestic and foreign affairs which would have been discussed across the music hall tables. Perhaps in a similar manner, the material of present comedians and singers will be analysed to enlighten upon the various opinions which formulate shared mass culture today.
The social reformers of the middle classes were appalled by vulgarity within the halls, the revealing costumes of women, the encouragement of drinking and of prostitution. They attempted to control the programming of the halls through the incorporation of ‘Rational Recreation’. Nicholas Till in his First-Class Evening Entertainments article details how the opening programme for Hoxton Hall on 2nd November 1863 was purposely designed to create an obliging, unquestioning working class. Entertainment forms were carefully selected to present narratives on national identity, inspiring new technologies, the ideal healthy home and propagate positive images of the monarchy. However, the audiences found ‘Rational Recreation’ condescending, and resented the intrusion into their leisure spaces. Working classes audiences wanted to be entertained, not lectured, and so the programme at Hoxton Hall quickly collapsed. The music hall was a sacred space where ordinary Britons could turn their back on regimental ‘Victorian values’, and as argued by Steven Gerrard in his article The Great British Music Hall, ‘navigate socially underlying themes such as age, class, gender and ethnicity’ in a protected space. In the immediate the working classes had reclaimed their identity within the music halls, but this was not to last.
Music Halls were frequented by members of the middles classes for entertainment purposes, and increasingly so in the lead up to the turn of the century, but they were always to be found in the more respectable establishments. The increasing respectability of clientele resulted in King George V insisting in 1912 that the stars from the music halls play at the Palace Theatre for charitable purposes. This show was the beginning of an annual tradition, The Royal Variety Show, which will again be held this year on the 6th December at the Eventim Apollo Hammersmith. In 1912, the official attention diverted to the music hall stars meant they could never again perform with the same vulgarity and commonality that made them so adored by working class audiences previously. The music hall industry declined, and I ask you to consider when watching the show next month, that variety was re-polished to suit the middle and upper classes, but in turn, deprived the working classes of their long standing unique identity. Indeed, variety, the essence of the music halls, is still a popular pursuit of the majority today, as seen by the emergence of Britain’s Got Talent from 2007, but it lacks the escapist, carefree nature it once was the gatekeepers of within the music halls.
Though, it is interesting to see how popular entertainment today has its roots in the expression of 19th century working class identity, and to note that entertainment is still a platform on which shared culture is built.
By Rebecca Tabrar
The Past Alive Today 