The 33 RPM speed first appeared in an early format of 20-inch records designed to provide sound for films. In 1930, RCA Victor had hoped they could become a new long-playing consumer record format, but they could only be played so many times before they wore out. This wasn’t an issue with radio stations, who would rarely repeat a recorded program more than once. By 1932, three-quarters of all radio stations used these discs for some programming, and soon some companies were using the technology to bootleg radio shows off the air and sell the discs cheaply to small radio stations. (These bootlegs make up most of the evidence we now have of what early radio sounded like.)
The practice of repeating radio shows immediately drew the ire of some of the bigger recording stars, who formed a group called the “National Association of Performing Artists” and pushed to have the words “Not For Radio Broadcast” or “For Home Use Only” printed on their record labels. In 1935, bandleader Fred Waring (who quit all recording in 1932 out of protest), sued a Pennsylvania station that played his records and won.
Going against the earlier decision about record ownership, this court declared that the artist’s property rights to his recorded material remained even after their sale to the consumer. In other words, even though you bought the guy’s record, he still owned what was on it, and so you couldn’t do certain things (like broadcasting it) without his permission. Similar lawsuits were later filed, but were all struck down by 1940, on the same basis that a recent lawsuit regarding purchased digital files was struck down in Canada: that once someone buys something, they could do whatever the hell they want with it. (Although songwriters eventually managed to secure royalties from radio airplay, I don’t think record companies or musicians ever did get paid for broadcasts of their records.)
What this early litigiousness showed more than anything was that successful recording artists will always be willing to try to milk more money from their work, and will use idealistic talk about saving the livelihoods of all musicians—all while their very domination of record sales and airplay is actually the biggest barrier facing the average musician struggling for attention. Although in some ways things have improved, it is still only a small fraction of the musicians, songwriters, styles and composers who ever get a chance to get documented on record or heard on mass media. This lottery-like selectivity could have been mitigated early on, such as by curbing the major labels’ monopolistic advantages, regarding both manufacturing and distribution as well as their leveraging power with other media; or by making state radio and recording services more appealing and dynamic. Although the business cycles of the free market have seen periods where many small labels exposed electrifying new styles and artists shunned by the majors, somehow the majors always ended up digesting most styles (and labels) and homogenizing mass culture once again, until the next disruption by independents. The dream of the earliest pioneers of sound recording was that their inventions would lead to fair and wide documentation of everything, if not outright world peace due to the ensuing increase in communication. Somehow instead, the very words “record industry” are today synonymous with “greedy scumbags.”
All hindsight aside, in the 30s, musicians unions were quite certain the industry needed to change if a wholesale degradation of music in general was to be avoided. Although they neglected the enduring appeal of playing and listening to music, they argued that with steady reductions in jobs for musicians, young people would have no incentive to pursue a career in music. As musicians kept losing jobs even as the Depression wound down and the radio and record industries boomed, the American Federation of Musicians threatened to strike. Finally, in the summer of 1942, the AFM announced a total ban on all recordings, proclaiming that their musicians would no longer “play at their own funeral.” The ban lasted from August 1942 to November 1944. Record companies and radio stations (whose radio transcription records were equally affected) reacted by recording as much new stuff as possible before the ban went into effect.
The strike was soon outdone as an inconvenience to the record industry by a shortage in shellac, which records were made of (and which came from Southeast Asia, now off-limits because of the war. Who knows what rare records were lost forever when wartime rationing allowed people to buy a new record only if they brought in an old one to be recycled!)
Some of the union demands were a bit extreme, such as halting the sales of records to jukebox operators (based on the false premise that all jukeboxes were in establishments that would otherwise be employing musicians, which was unlikely in most soda parlours and diners.) Even if such demands were met, there would have been serious limits to their enforcement, which would have conflicted with the livelihoods of radio stations, jukebox operators, small businesses who couldn’t afford union musicians and ultimately, the public who just wanted to hear music one way or another.
But what denied popular support for this strike more than anything was the fact that the nation was at war. AFM President James Petrillo was accused of everything from supporting Hitler to harming public morale, though he countered by pointing out that 25 000 union musicians had enlisted in the Army. The facts did support Petrillo’s contention that the broadcast of recorded music was hurting the careers of musicians, since by then radio stations employed an average of less than 3 musicians.
The union’s argument that fewer jobs at radio stations would eventually lower the quality of live music was countered by broadcasters claiming that the quality of union musicians was getting lower because they were guaranteed work whether they were good or not. Some who operated jukeboxes in small rural towns said that they tried but couldn’t find musicians competent enough to please their customers, while others testified that their customers preferred hearing their favourite records than hearing live music anyway. Still others argued that while many previous jobs musicians held were lost for good, many new jobs that never existed before were created in sound recording, broadcasting and the film industry. In the end, the debate was relatively civilized and all sides agreed that they had to adapt to new realities while trying to ensure these realities were as fair as possible.
The recording ban ended in 1944 after Petrillo signed deals with the big labels and broadcasters, who promised to donate a percentage of record sales to special funds compensating union musicians for lost work. (The deal was signed first by Decca in 1943, who took advantage of their head start to sign away stars from other labels, crank up production and surpass the other majors in sales.) The deal made history in that for the first time an entire industry agreed to compensate the workers who lost jobs due to advances in technology. After the war, unions representing auto, railway, printing and other industries struck similar deals.

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