During the San Francisco Symphony's many years with RCA Victor (and its predecessor, Victor) albums came out in a variety of packaging. During the 1940s it was the practice of most record companies to distribute single 78 RPM discs in stiff-paper sleeves without an enclosing album. But for albums of 2 discs or more (that would be the majority of classical releases) RCA would provide a proper album—i.e., cloth-bound thick cardboard outer covers, like a large book, with brown paper inner sleeves that you could turn like the pages in a photo album. (Hence the name "album" to denote a recording, a usage still prevalent to this very day.)
That doesn't mean, however, that RCA always graced SF Symphony albums with original cover art. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn't. It gets down to about five options altogether:
- Plain cloth albums with no more than a stamped title, maybe on a textured surface.
- Limited color, simple art. Typically used for budget reprints, such as the RCA Camden or Victrola releases, these would be restricted to one or two colors maximum with design elements sharply limited. A certain tail-finned 1950s charm can sometimes result.
- Tired, unimaginative stuff from art-department drones. Some drudge arranged a few stock illustrations on colored paper.
- Generic full-color album art. RCA kept a supply of attractive paintings on hand that were studiedly neutral as to content and could serve for any number of recordings. Some of those pop up on dozens of releases throughout the 78 RPM era.
- Fresh, original full-color art. Obviously the most expensive option, generally reserved for sets that were expected to sell in high quantities.
Plain Cloth
Plain cloth was used for both of the Alfred Hertz multi-disc albums (Mendelssohn Midsummer Night's Dream and Massenet El Cid). Furthermore, Pierre Monteux's very first recording with the SF Symphony (Ravel's La Valse of 1941) was released without any decorative fanfare, as was the 1942 album of the Debussy Images for Orchestra. We also find a variant on the plain-cloth style with a special-release post-1945 edition of Ibert's Escales on an early form of transparent red vinyl. One gets the impression that in this case the plain cloth was intended to look classy, properly in keeping with a premium-priced album.
Limited Color, Simple Art
The 1950's RCA Camden releases, with their two-color album printing, have a certain nostalgic je ne sais quoi about them. They absolutely scream 1950s, the perfect ornaments for Orthophonic Hi-Fidelity record players with their blondewood and brass tubular legs, perhaps arranged next to a slick vinyl sofa and kidney-shaped lamps.
These boring album covers characterize the transitional period, when RCA was moving from 78 RPM albums to LPs. They're made to a template: a small snapshot of Monteux, a larger illustration of the composer (usually a drawing of a torso statue) and some kind of contrasting-color band. Typically they were in two or three colors, obviously budget items thrown together without any pretense at creativity or imagination.
RCA kept a goodly supply of generic covers handy. Typically high-class illustrations from ace artists Frank Dekker and Henry Stalhut, they always offer a prominent place for the album title. Among the Monteux/SFS albums in high-end generics are Menuhin's performance of the Bruch concerto, a cover repeated on dozens of RCA albums, and the 1951 Debussy Images remake album, which sports the same Frank Dekker multicolor ribbons that adorn RCA 78s (and early LPs) by just about every orchestra currently under contract to the company.
It's very much to RCA's credit that the lion's share of Monteux's San Francisco recordings boast spectacular artwork from RCA's very best artists. Several albums deserve special mention for the lavish attention paid to creating something truly remarkable.
Berlioz Symphonie fantastique, 1945: Frank Dekker created a bevy of superb album paintings, but none more wonderful than this quasi-Cubist confection that illustrates each movement of Berlioz's masterpiece. Note the elongated, rubbery arms on the female—a Dekker characteristic.
Milhaud Protée, 1945: glorious whimsey from Dekker. The mermaid on the cover bears a slight resemblance to Pierre Monteux. That is not accidental.
D'Indy Istar Symphonic Variations, 1945: Henry Stalhut's glowing romanticism is on full display here, the color palette rich, the imagery striking.
Hall of Shame
Most of RCA's San Francisco Symphony artwork is tasteful, even when it's dull. But every once in a while the art department cooked up something horrid. I elect the following three albums for a Hall of Shame, each of them characterized by a graceless ugliness and an utter lack of style.
Rachmaninoff's Greatest Hits on RCA Victrola, containing the 1957 Brailowsky-Jorda rendition of the 2nd piano concerto. Maybe it's the tacky orange. Maybe the near-incompetent sketch of the composer. I don't know. But this is one seriously ugly record jacket.