Welcome to Three Tune Tuesday
A Journey into the Soundtrack of the Past
Why Three Tune Tuesday?
Because it’s more than nostalgia—it’s a time machine. By listening closely to these century-old voices, we rediscover the roots of today’s music and the stories of the people who sang them. Each crackle and hiss carries history: resilience in hard times, laughter in the face of change, and artistry that still resonates.
Where to Listen
- Right here at Blind Skeleton, the podcast home of Three Tune Tuesday.
- On Apple Podcasts.
- Or wherever you enjoy your weekly dose of vintage sound
Whether you’re a history buff, a music lover, or simply curious, Three Tune Tuesday offers an inspiring window into the past. Tune in each week to experience the melodies and stories that laid the groundwork for the music we know and love today.
Browse All Episodes
Welcome to “Three Tune Tuesday,” where vintage sound meets timeless music in a weekly exploration of acoustically recorded gems. Each episode, join us on a unique auditory journey through different genres and eras, as we feature three carefully selected tracks that showcase the rich tapestry of music history. Whether you’re a seasoned audiophile or new to the world of vintage entertainment, there’s something here for everyone.
Dive into the heart of music with your host, a passionate collector who brings these tracks to life on period-appropriate phonographs, offering not just songs but an authentic listening experience. From jazz and blues to folk and beyond, our “theme of the week” format keeps every episode fresh and exciting, blending informative insights with a casual, engaging style.
“Three Tune Tuesday” is for music lovers and vintage enthusiasts alike, providing a rare glimpse into the past through the lens of a private collection that stands as a testament to the enduring power of music. Tune in weekly to rediscover the sounds that shaped generations, played as they were meant to be heard, on the machines that first brought them to the world’s ears.
March 24, 1918: German forces crossed the Somme during Operation Michael, Ludendorff’s great spring offensive — the war machine’s last confident lunge toward a victory that never came. In 2026, with the Trump administration dismantling alliances built on the bones of two world wars, treating the consequences of war as someone else’s problem, and marching forward with the kind of certainty that history tends to punish, it felt like a good week to reach back to the era when people were still trying to make sense of what industrialized war actually meant — and some of them were brave enough to say so.
“Peter Piper” — Arthur Pryor’s Band (Victor, 1905)
It sounds like a march — all brass and forward momentum and purpose. But “Peter Piper” is built on a nursery rhyme tongue-twister, a piece of music that moves with great confidence toward absolutely nothing. Arthur Pryor was the second most famous bandleader in America after Sousa, and when his band played, people stood up straight. On the anniversary of the Somme crossing, it seemed like the right way to open: all that certainty, all that momentum, built entirely on nonsense.
“Stay Down Here Where You Belong” — Henry Burr (Victor, 1915)
Irving Berlin wrote this in 1915, before America entered the war and before he understood which way the wind was blowing. The conceit is simple and devastating: the Devil urges his son to stay in Hell rather than venture up to the surface, because up there they’re making butchers out of brothers, and there’s more hell above ground than below. Henry Burr recorded it with the quiet conviction of a man who meant it. Within two years, America was at war, Berlin had moved on to writing songs for the troops, and this one was quietly shelved. It is the voice that said don’t go — before the drums got loud enough that nobody could hear it anymore.
“Oh! It’s a Lovely War” — Courtland & Jeffries (1918)
By 1918, four years in, the Somme and Verdun behind them and millions dead, two music hall performers called Courtland & Jeffries were on stage insisting that everything was absolutely fine. Every verse of this song catalogs the miseries of army life — the mud, the tinned jam, the absurdity of military hierarchy — and every verse ends with the chorus cheerfully declaring it all perfectly wonderful. It is one of the only songs of the era that got away with mocking the war while it was still being fought, by the simple trick of never technically admitting that’s what it was doing. The humor is the gap between what is said and what is meant. In 1918, that gap was the width of the Western Front.
