This week on Three Tune Tuesday, Boneapart shares three of his all-time favorite records: the exotic fox trot “Egyptland” by the Six Brown Brothers, the barnyard mayhem of “Livery Stable Blues” by the Original Dixieland Jass Band, and the thunderous “Anvil Chorus” from Verdi’s Il Trovatore, performed by the New York Light Opera Company. Somehow, Suzanne and Boneapart spin a full hour of stories, history, and banter out of just these three tracks—proof that even the smallest playlist can open the door to big conversations about the birth of jazz, the rise of the saxophone, and opera’s unlikely place on early 78s.

To mark Labour Day, we trace a line from quiet graft to collective thunder: Stanley Kirkby’s “The Farmer’s Boy” (1912, Beka-Grand-Record) opens with rural work ethic and upward hope; Alan Turner’s “The Village Blacksmith” (Victor) hammers out craft pride and debtless independence; and Chaliapin’s “Dubinushka” (HMV DA 621, 1924) lifts a hauling chant into a rallying cry. In our unscripted meander we dip into the holiday’s origins, swap label lore (Beka’s Berlin–London pipeline, Victor quirks, HMV’s red-label sheen), and let three sides carry the week from sweat and skill to solidarity.

This week on Three Tune Tuesday, we’re taking a trip across borders with an “International Relations” theme — but not the kind fought with guns and flags. Instead, we follow how early 20th-century popular music imagined, borrowed, and sometimes outright distorted the sounds of “foreign” places. From the faux-exotic fox-trot of Hindustan (1918), to the heartfelt Latin American cry of Ay, Ay, Ay (1920), to the global journey of La Paloma (1902) — one of the first true international pop songs — we explore how music both connected cultures and flattened them into stereotypes. It’s a story of whitewashing, longing, and cross-cultural love, told through three spins of the shellac.

This week’s Three Tune Tuesday isn’t about concert halls or high culture. It’s about the tunes we first met through Bugs Bunny in drag, Elmer Fudd in a horned helmet, and Daffy Duck pounding a piano. Music we learned from cartoons.

This week on Three Tune Tuesday, we’re marching to a different beat — and it’s definitely not Sousa’s. We’ve lined up three bold, cheeky, and slightly irreverent marches that trade rigid patriotism for a wink and a grin. From the circus-crazed chaos of Entry of the Gladiators, to the clapping, stomping revelry of Radetzky March, and finally the sly, end-of-the-parade strut of The Gladiator’s Farewell, these tunes prove that a march doesn’t have to salute the regime — sometimes it can just laugh in time to the music.

This week on Three Tune Tuesday, we dive into the world of Sousa marches — not just as music, but as cultural artifacts. From the bold nationalism of The Stars and Stripes Forever to the disciplined dignity of Semper Fidelis, and finally to the unexpectedly comedic afterlife of The Liberty Bell, we explore what marches were meant to do, who they were meant to move, and how their meanings have shifted over time. It's a journey through patriotism, power, and the strange ways symbols evolve — all in three tunes.

This week on Three Tune Tuesday, we tip our hats (and rattle some cages) with a theme that’s long overdue: Disobedient Women. From flappers and vaudeville queens to blues legends who lived out loud, we spin three songs that chart a quiet revolution—women stepping out, speaking up, and refusing to be small. You’ll hear about Rebecca, who came back from Mecca with a scandalous new spirit; Eva Tanguay, who just flat-out didn’t care; and Ma Rainey, who shattered every mold with a song too bold for her time. It’s satire, song, and side-eye for the patriarchy—and we’re not sorry.

This week on Three Tune Tuesday, we turn our ear to the outsiders — the wanderers, the exiled, and the forgotten. From a lonesome American drifter to a Siberian prisoner and a mother mourning her lost son, these early recordings echo with the voices of those who don’t quite belong. Whether cast out, worn down, or simply left behind, each song carries the weight of life on the margins. Join us for three vintage tracks that ask: who gets to belong, and who gets left out in the cold?

This week on Three Tune Tuesday, we celebrate Rebellious Laughter — the kind that exposes ego, hypocrisy, and the absurdity of social masks. Our three tunes come from the early 1900s, but their targets feel timeless. First up, “I Love Me (I’m Wild About Myself)” is a vanity-fueled romp that skewers self-obsession with a wink and a waltz. Then, Bert Williams delivers “Nobody”, a quietly brilliant satire about being forgotten, ignored, and expected to keep smiling — a song as relevant now as it was in 1906. We close with “He Goes to Church on Sunday”, Billy Murray’s cheerful takedown of moral hypocrisy, where showing up in a pew is enough to excuse a week of bad behavior. Together, these songs remind us that joy can be a form of resistance — especially when it calls out the nonsense with a grin.

This week on Three Tune Tuesday, we’re rolling up our sleeves and diving into songs of sweat, steel, and solidarity. From the pounding drills of Irish railroad workers, to the rousing toasts of weary students, to the thunderous celebration at the forge, these tunes remind us that hard work is a universal rhythm. Whether it’s toil for wages or the shared struggles of daily life, today’s set spans borders and centuries—but every song rings with the sounds of labor and perseverance.