I have yet to encounter a disappointing major Dust-to-Digital release, and this three-disc collection of the choicest bits from John Heneghan's archive of early 78s continues that hot streak beautifully.  Focusing entirely on the many facets of romance (and not skimping on the negative ones), Heneghan wisely opts to skip most of the "serious" artists from the era and instead plunges headlong into the most satisfying examples of hillbilly kitsch, Hawaiiana, casual racism, yodeling, clumsy lewdness, and spectacular poor taste that the '20s and '30s had to offer.
The 66 songs of Baby, How Can It Be? are helpfully divided into themed discs labeled "Love," "Lust," and "Contempt."  I found this to be a very helpful feature, as it enables me to skip love and go right to lust and contempt (much like I do in my personal life). That is not to say that there aren't a number of wonderful love-themed pieces, because there are (like Bo Carter's "Baby, How Can It Be?").  However, the most immediately gratifying songs are the cartoonishly embittered and lascivious ones: the album doesn't completely catch fire until the clumsy double entendres, misogyny, and suicide threats start flying.  The way I see it, I can always go back to the conventionally good songs later.
The Lust disc is such a treasure trove of questionable taste that I don't even know where to begin.  Did you know that there's a slang term that means both "cat" and "female genitalia?"  There is!  And Harry Roy and His Bat Club Boys make damn sure that they milk that coincidence for all it's worth.  Those same organs also figure quite prominently into Hartman's Heart Breakers' "Let Me Play With It," but they are stealthily referred to as a yo-yo this time around.  Aside from that, a quick review of the song titles pretty much conveys everything anyone needs to know about the contents: "I Ain't a Bit Drunk," "I'm Feelin' Devilish," "Strut That Thing": the Lust disc is pretty much a steam-clouded window into what it was like to be liquored-up and randy in the Jazz Age.  There are also some great break-up songs mixed in, like Rutherford & Foster's resigned-yet-hopeful "There’s More Pretty Girls Than One."  Additionally, there is inexplicably a very tuba-heavy song about falling in love with a mermaid.  I had difficulty relating to that one.
The Contempt disc also has its share of timeless classics, many of which deal with the trials and tribulations of having an overbearing wife, like "She Ain't Built That Way," "He Went in Like a Lion (But Came Out Like a Lamb)," and the brilliant "I'm Wearin' The Britches Now" (about a "lousy sow, " of course).  Then there is the jawdropping "It's A Shame To Whip Your Wife On Sunday," which points out that are six other days of the week to take care stuff like that (along with gettin’ drunk and gamblin’).  For sheer ridiculousness, though, I was perhaps most enamored of the jaunty big band sing-along "Wimmin-Aaaah!," which comes complete with exaggerated yelps of anguish.  Thankfully, the women also get their say about relationships gone wrong, most explicitly on Hazel Scherf's bluntly matter-of-fact "Married Girls Troubles."  Laura Smith takes a far more direct route, however, with her sassy and melodramatic "I’m Gonna Kill Myself."
Heneghan maintains a remarkably high standard of quality despite the album's enthusiastic devotion to all things base and campy.  No one should pick up Baby, How Can It Be? expecting to find the next Blind Lemon Jefferson (though the actual Blind Lemon Jefferson is present), but the more absurd moments are nicely balanced by a healthy proportion of swinging early string jazz, banjo virtuosos, urbane big bands, heartbroken hillbillies, and world-weary bluesmen.  There are certainly a handful of recognizable names here, like Mississippi John Hurt and Cab Calloway, but they are often eclipsed by those who've been largely forgotten: this show belongs to them.
Much like it is with the music contained within, the emphasis for the packaging falls squarely on character and charm rather than on scholarship or comprehensiveness. Pretty much no background is provided for any of the artists involved, which is no surprise as I can't imagine much is available anyway.  Besides, I can't imagine that there are that many people that are dying to learn more about the career of, for example, The Broadway Bellhops.  Instead, there are some colorful liner notes by Nick Tosches and a detourned cheesecake centerfold by R. Crumb (I am actually a bit surprised John Waters didn't get involved too–seems right up his alley).  Even those touches are pretty superfluous, though: Baby, How Can It Be? is essentially a crackling old-time-y party in a box for sociable types and a handy primer for turning your life into Ghost World for the rest of us.
Samples:
- Hartman's Heart Breakers, "Let Me Play With It"
- Asa Martin, "She Ain't Built That Way"
- Joseph Falcon, "Poche Town"
 
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