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One of the most successful theatrical productions of the 1890s was a touring spectacle called "The South Before The War." Here is how it was originally advertised.

Those of use who knew the “Souf befo’ the Wah,” as the children of Ham put it, and who know what plantation life really was [like] before our great internecine struggle, and such of us as have not had our opinions colored by the Harriet Beecher Stowe class of literature, but can recall the happy days and pleasant nights spent by the darkies in the cotton fields and cane brakes, will have an opportunity of seeing and living over again those happy times at–theatre by witnessing the inimitable performance given by Whallen and Martell’s big South before the War company.

From our lofty vantage point it's easy to be appalled by this description. With our 130 years' worth of hindsight, the debate is no longer about whether this show was right or wrong, but about exactly what mix of self-delusion and cynical self-interest went into it. In truth, the main difference between then and now is that we have learned not to say the quiet part loud. Nostalgia has its claws in us more than ever, from strictly-playlisted hits radio stations, to the obsessive sequeling and rebooting of movies and TV series, to politicians telling us they will make our countries "great again" - a phrase which is itself recycled from recentish history

Nostalgia is, almost by definition, a warm, comfortable thing. Life can be very stressful, and if people want to escape that by diving into a nostalgic pool filled with their best memories, then who can really blame them? It would seem pretty churlish to insist on shocking them out of their reverie with a difficult truth, they are surely in no mood to be lectured. The problem comes when this occasional retreat becomes an addiction, when it spills out of our personal lives into the world in general, and taints the way we see not just the past, but the present.

So far these mixes have concerned years which are generally beyond all living memory, and in 1933 this seems to have shifted profoundly. From a modern vantage point we are now in the lead-up to the Second World War, a time which still looms very large in British culture, and it is becoming difficult to find any kind of popular history which covers the time from any other perspective. In the real USA of 1933, the nostalgia industry is creating itself. These may be the darkest days of the great depression, but they are also the heady heights of the golden age of Hollywood. According to the artefacts I've gathered here, this was a nation as addicted to escapism as any other. The style and glamour of films and music this year are so sparklingly positive that at a glance there is no depression, no looming war, but a world in the full bloom of peace and prosperity.

Under the surface, though, there is a certain sadness lurking. This hedonistic escapism leaves open the question of - from what exactly are they escaping? Fred & Ginger's relationship to music is an all-in, devotional ritual. Tex Ritter sings a tribute to whisky, Bessie Smith prefers a pigfoot and a bottle of beer. Al Bowlly compares his love to a decadent, unhealthy indulgence. For Ethel Waters, her disappointing love-life presents itself as stormy weather to be endured. Everywhere people are jumping head-first into pleasures and obsessions, and it's left to a handful of country and blues singers to deal with the troubles of the world as it is now. Jimmy Rodgers is in the depths of despair, and Lightnin' Washington is, literally, a prisoner working on a chain gang in Texas, during the dust bowl.

So here's a year-long chunk of the past, then, a place which seems dead-set on creating its own nostalgia of the present, with little in the way of soul-searching or truth. It's basically harmless, but let's not pretend this is a real picture of how people were feeling in 1933, "how they wanted to feel" will just have to do.

Track list

0:00:30 Maurice Jaubert - If The Kids Are United (Zéro De Conduite)