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 In the following statements, Danzi reveals even further insights into the complex period in which the rise of Nazi rule intersected with the German people’s unstoppable love for American jazz, throughout the 1930s. Continuing his description of his time at the Scala Theatre, he explained “In April, I became a permanent member of the Scala house band under Otto Stenzel. Around this time, the Reichsmusikkammer ruled that musicians must have four days off each month, we had been expected to seven days a week until then. Duisberg gave me the privilege of taking off extra days, as and when they suited me, for my radio work was taking me out of Berlin. I had to send a substitute, of course; some fellow musicians didn’t like this but the union agreed with Duisberg’s generous decision.”
“On one of my days off in May, 1935, I had agreed to work on a radio date in Hamburg, with Robert Gaden. We drove there in private cars. We were half-way when we were getting onto a main highway crossroad when the cars suddenly came to a halt. The power was shut-off by some unexplained reason. There were between one and two hundred cars stranded on the highway. The Nazi patrol said that this traffic halt was temporary, and that after fifteen minutes the cars could roll again. From a private source we were told that the air force was experimenting with a laser beam that could stop the magnets in car engines at a distance of five-hundred meters. They were trying to increase that to two-thousand meters, for at that distance one plane could ‘shoot down’ and enemy plane.”
“In May, 1935, the production manager (‘Schriftleiter’) of the magazine ‘Der Artist’ started a master series for the Artist ‘Kollegenschaft,’ and I wrote the very first article. It was followed by articles written by players of all manner of instruments. The magazine’s Berlin correspondent was Gerard E. Pfroetzschner, and he did an excellent translation. Over the years since I left Germany I have read that historians and other commentators on the Berlin music scene of the Third Reich have stated that dance music and jazz had been replaced by polkas, Strauss waltzes, folk dances, and other sedate music. My article in Der Artist in 1935 refutes such statements. It was well documented that around three-quarters of the tunes in the orchestral books of bands which played for dancing were foxtrots, ballads, waltzes, and swing arrangements.”
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In an effort to preserve the country’s international appeal during the 1936 Olympics, the Nazi government displayed an open acceptance of jazz music, but in the years that followed it returned to its strict controls, and began using government spies to monitor all jazz being performed in Germany. Finally, in November of 1938, Adolf Hitler ordered his “Kristallnacht” (Crystal Night), plundering and setting fire to synagogues and Jewish-owned businesses throughout Germany. Several days later, a permanent blow was struck to the Berlin jazz scene when all Jews were banned from attending cabarets, circus performances, dances, and cultural exhibitions.
During this time, Danzi continued to perform with studio orchestras and live bands throughout Berlin, as well as remained a part of weekly radio shows, and the accompanying photo provides the viewer with a glimpse into his brief, television appearances with guitarist Otto Sachsenhauser. In describing this period, he explained “I did my usual spells at the various Berlin studios, adding Heinz Musonius’s polka orchestra to the list of bands I worked with. I had my very last session with that great violinist Ilja Livschakoff, who then went of to Brazil; a great virtuoso. There we other changes in the spring of 1938, for the television tryout with Otto Sachsenhauser in December had been approved, and in May, 1938, we were called to appear on television.”
“The producer said we were good, and put us on his list, so now I was approved to work on television. I had second thoughts about this. It came about because we had to hang about for hours, waiting for our turn to perform; and we also waited between trying on some costume and then sitting for the camera angles, and changing into something else, and then going through the motions of playing, so that the visual effect could be judged. Then we had a general rehearsal the next day, in full costume; followed by a couple of hours rest, and then the actual broadcast. All this time, and hanging about, and the money was the same as I got for a nine-minute spot on radio doing solos; and you didn’t need to wear fancy clothes on the radio. So we gave up the whole t.v. project after the second show.”
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When describing the unique circumstances of his life in Berlin during the start of WW-II, Danzi recalled “You might think from the history books that the world changes when war is declared, and it does, but not in such a definite way. I still had calls to the recording studios and film studios in October, 1939, and I played one, last, sound track at the UFA film studio in October. Herbert Jaeger asked me to do a final broadcast with him on October 10, but there had been trouble at the radio station since the spring. The uniformed doorman had told me in no uncertain way that I should say “Heil Hitler.” He had told me this around April, and my reply had upset him for months.”
“I had told him that I was a foreigner, and that I should keep to “guten Tag” (good day). So he would not let me in the building; I missed the show. I did the show on October 10 and when I left I spoke to this doorman and said that I would be off in a few days; I was leaving Berlin. In view of the row we had had, and the bad mood he had been in over all those months, I expected him to be pleased. In fact, he said that he envied me. He said ‘I hope when the war is over I can throw away this uniform, just dump it in the street, and wear civilian clothes again.’ They were odd words from a new party member and doorman!”
Finally, nearly twenty years later, Michael Danzi had returned to the United States and can be seen in the accompanying photo performing as a featured soloist at the legendary Radio City Music Hall in New York. When recalling those performances, he stated “The new show opened on February 16, 1956; new shows always opened on Thursdays. The entire cast in the colorful costumes were photographed and the pictures put in the window displays out front. For two-hours the last minute alterations were made, to the routine, and then at eight we had the last dress rehearsal; it went off well, and so we were ready. At nine the hall opened and the feature film was rolling. This was nine in the morning, of course. We had been working since five! The first stage show was at just gone mid-day. For ‘Camp Town Races’ I was flanked by twenty male and a dozen female singers, all dressed in light suits, red ties, and Panama hats. There was eight bars from the orchestra and I was off for sixteen bars; then the choir came in and then a further banjo feature; my improvisations with fast single-string picking. Raymond Paige told the audience that I was his chief copyist, ‘Look at him swing that banjo.’ Plenty of applause. The final chorus had the choir in a semi-circle around me, imitating my syncopated right hand, so he whole show was movement. The last eight bars had my banjo louder and louder, and I ended on a long gliss, applause, and I walked off stage.” (Michael Danzi, New York City, 1984).
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