Serving the public radio needs of southeastern Idaho for over six years, this is 91.1 FM, KISU Pocatello.
With a look at the weather for the rest of today, mostly sunny skies with highs reaching the 80s.
Tonight, mostly clear skies with lows near 40s, lows 50s, excuse me, and Monday, sunny and warmer.
Currently outside the studios of KISU, the temperature is 78 degrees. It's 12 o'clock. Coming up is Shickley Mix.
Who wants to know? Okay, here's the theme.
Here's the theme.
Hello there, I'm Peter Shickley, and this is Shickley Mix, a program dedicated to the proposition that all musics are created equal.
Or, as Duke Ellington put it, if it sounds good, it is good.
And it's good to know that you're in good hands.
I refer to the fact that our program is made possible with funds provided by this radio station.
I guess some of my friends think I'm a little bit callous or something because I don't do anything special for Mother's or Father's Day.
But we just never paid any attention to those days in my family.
I don't know if my parents thought that they were simply inventions of the greeting card companies or what, but in any case, it was no special deal.
But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate my parents. Hey, Christmas presents, free tickets to my concerts, discounts on PDQ Bach t-shirts.
No, actually, we've been a very close family of very independent souls.
My mother always enjoyed playing the piano, especially piano four hands, until her arthritis caught up with her.
And she's the kind of person who, when we moved to Fargo, North Dakota, and she was told that the Fargo-Moorhead Community Orchestra was weak in the string bass section,
she took up the string bass.
My father, an agricultural economist who was not especially musical himself, was a great and serious appreciator of music,
and loved the string quartet evenings that took place in various homes, including ours, during my teenage years.
Towards the end of his life, his mind went downhill, but he never lost his enthusiasm for beautiful sights and sounds.
I remember once, late in his life, when the whole family was together, for geographical reasons a rare occasion by then,
and we had a favorite Christmas album on while we were decorating the tree.
He made everybody stop and just listen to the music.
He probably had had the urge to do that many times in earlier years, but until disease weakened his manners, he never acted on it.
Who's the novelist who said there are only two things worth writing about? Blood and money.
When it comes to your parents, there are things for which you're grateful, and there are things you resent,
but when you become a parent yourself, you see how the circle is unbroken, and whether the knot soothes or chafes, it can't be untied.
Talking about parents, today in our first suite is the Parental Song Cycle, whose three numbers look at parents in three very different ways.
Now, unfortunately, for our purposes, I couldn't find a recording of the marriage of Figaro in English.
I'm going to break my usual policy and tell you what the first number is,
so I'll read a translation of the libretto for the excerpt we're going to hear as the first selection.
Not every word, but you'll get the gist.
Figaro, betrothed to Susanna, is about to be forced to marry a much older woman, Marcellina, because he owes her money.
I won't go into all the details of the luxuriant plot of this opera.
In the recitative we'll hear first, the notary says,
The case is settled. Either pay her or marry her. Now be silent.
Marcellina says, I breathe again, Figaro, and I die.
Marcellina, at last I shall marry the man I adore.
Your Excellency, I appeal. The sentence is just. Either pay or marry.
Bravo, Don Corzio. That's the notary. Your Excellency is too good.
What a perfect sentence. How do you mean perfect, says Figaro. We are all avenged.
I won't marry her. You will marry her. Either pay her or marry her.
I lent you two thousand silver crowns.
I am a gentleman, says Figaro, and without the consent of my noble parents.
Where are they? Who are they? Let them be searched for again.
For ten years I've been trying to find them.
A foundling child? No, a lost child, doctor, or rather kidnapped.
How's that? What? Your proof, your witnesses.
The gold, gems, and embroidered clothes that the robbers found me wearing,
even at that tender age, are the true indications of my high birth,
and especially this hieroglyphic on my arm.
And Marcellina, without seeing it, says,
A spatula birthmark on your right arm? Figaro says,
And who was it told you? Oh God, it is he. Of course I am he.
Who? Who? Who? Little Raphael.
And the thieves stole you near a castle.
There is your mother. My nursemaid? No, your mother.
His mother? What's this I hear? Marcellina says,
There is your father.
And then we have a sextet.
Recognize in his embrace your mother, beloved son.
My father do the same, and no longer let me be ashamed.
In the midst of all this, Susanna comes in,
and she sees Figaro embracing Marcellina.
And so she is a little bit put out.
And she comes in, as a matter of fact,
to pay the thousand double crowns which she has raised
so that she can marry Figaro as was planned at the beginning of the opera.
Then she sees Figaro hugging Marcellina, and she says,
So, he's reconciled with his bride.
Ye gods, what infidelity! Figaro says,
No, wait. Listen, darling.
Susanna says, Listen to this.
Boxes his ears, which you can hear quite clearly on the recording.
And then there's a little bit of ensemble singing there.
And finally Marcellina says to Susanna,
Calm your anger, my dear daughter.
Embrace his mother, and yours as well.
Now, and Susanna says,
His mother? Bartolo, his mother.
Susanna, his mother.
And you can hear sua madre all over the place there.
And then finally Figaro says,
And that is my father. He'll say so himself.
His father, his father, his father, his father, his father.
And then at the end,
My soul can barely resist any longer
The sweet delight of this moment.
The paternal song cycle.
See you in about sixteen minutes.
La sposerai.
O pagarla o sposarla.
Io t'ho prestati duemila pezzi duri.
Son gentiluomo. E senza l'assenso dei miei nobili parenti?
Dove sono? Chi sono?
Lasciate ancora cercarli. Dopo dieci anni io spero di trovarli.
Qualche mamma introvata?
L'ho perduto, dottor. Anzi, rubato.
Come?
Cosa?
La prova.
Il testimonio.
Loro le gemme e i ricamati panni
Che nei più teneri animi ritrovaro addosso i masnavieri
Sono gli indizi veri di mia nascita illustre.
E soprattutto, questo è il mio braccio impresso, giroglifico.
La spatola è impresso al braccio destro.
E a voi chi l'disse?
Oddio, è desso.
È vero, sono io.
Chi?
Raffaello.
E i ladri ti rapirono?
Ressa un castello.
Ecco tua madre.
Alia.
No, tua madre.
Sua madre.
Cosa sento?
Ecco tua madre.
Riconosci in questo applesso
Una madre e amato figlio?
Padre mio, fate lo stesso.
Non mi fate più arrossir.
L'esistenza e la conoscenza
Pargono la scelta de te.
Questo padre e sua madre
E la sua madre e suo figlio
L'immeneo non so asseguir.
Figlio.
Questo padre e sua madre
E la sua madre e suo figlio
Figlio.
L'immeneo non so asseguir.
Figlio.
L'immeneo non so asseguir.
Alto, alto, signor conte.
E mille doppi sono qui pronte
A pagarlo meglio per Figaro
E da farlo in libertà.
Osservate un po' più.
Già d'accordo con la sposa.
Giusti dei, infidelità.
Lasci niente.
No, perresta.
Lasci niente.
No, perresta.
Senti, tua cara.
Senti, senti.
Senti questa.
Lo stello, pelvatevi, amaro Figaro.
Sua madre abbracciatevi, al vostro sarà.
Sua madre.
Tua madre
E quello è mio padre, che a te lo dirà.
suo padre
e quella è mia madre che a te lo dirà
Al fiero tormento di questo momento, al dolce contento di questo momento,
quest'astra bambina che si deve orsare.
Al fiero tormento di questo momento,
quest'anima appena resiste,
in the deep rolling hills of old Virginia
there's a place I love so well
where I spent many days of my childhood
in the cabin where we loved to dwell
white dove will mourn in sorrow
the willows will hang their heads
I'll live my life in sorrow
since mother and daddy are dead
we were all so happy there together
in our peaceful little mountain home
but God made angels up in heaven
now they sing around the great white throne
white dove will mourn in sorrow
the willows will hang their heads
I'll live my life in sorrow
since mother and daddy are dead
as the years roll by I often wonder
if we'll all be together someday
and each night as I wander to the graveyard
darkness finds me where I kneel to pray
white dove will mourn in sorrow
the willows will hang their heads
I'll live my life in sorrow
since mother and daddy are dead
oh
mother you had me
but I never had you
I wanted you
you didn't want me
so I
just gotta tell you
goodbye
father you left me
but I never left you
I needed you
you didn't need me
so I
I just gotta tell you
goodbye
you ain't gonna do
what I have done
I couldn't warn
and I tried to run
so I
I just gotta tell you
goodbye
mama don't go
daddy come home
mama don't go
daddy come home
mama don't go
daddy come home
mama don't go
daddy come home
mama don't go
daddy come home
mama don't go
daddy come home
mama don't go
daddy come home
mama don't go
daddy come home
mama don't go
daddy come home
mama don't go
daddy come home
and Don Curzio was Renato Ercolani.
Cellini was conducting the Philharmonia Orchestra and Chorus.
Then we heard another one from Folk Songs from the Bluegrass,
Earl Taylor and his Stony Mountain Boys, White Dove.
A funky record, don't blame it on your radio station, it's my fault.
I was introduced to this album about 32 years ago.
If they would reissue it, I would gladly pick it up, but it's my favorite Bluegrass album.
I think it's got tremendous energy.
Those of you who are regular listeners to the show will probably end up hearing every cut on it eventually.
And then finally, John Lennon from the album Plastic Ono Band.
Very direct song, if I remember correctly,
I think he wrote this song while he was in primal scream therapy.
And John Lennon was always somebody whose personal experiences went very directly into his songs.
Paul McCartney, his personal experiences also went into his songs,
but there was always more of a restraint there.
They were filtered through more of a third person type story.
Paul is more of a patrician.
John Lennon wore his agony on his sleeve.
Real chamber music there, John Lennon on the piano and singing,
Klaus Fuhrman on bass, and Ringo on the drums.
And my name is Peter Shickley.
The show you're listening to is Shickley Mix from PRI, Public Radio International.
M-O-T-H-E-R, the wellspring, the fount.
You don't find an awful lot of negative songs about mothers,
or apple pie either, for that matter.
The bonds are strong, that's certainly true,
but I think it also has to do with the pedestal.
Women are supposed to be naturally perfect mothers,
but that and cooking and sewing are about the only things you're supposed to be good at.
When Felix Mendelssohn had an audience with Queen Victoria,
the Queen said she'd like to sing one of his songs and suggested one.
She sang from memory.
Mendelssohn accompanied her and afterwards complimented her very sincerely,
but had to inform her that the song was not his.
It had been written by his sister, Fanny,
but their father did not approve of music as anything more than a pastime for women
and forbade her to publish her songs.
So Felix published some under his own name just to get them in print.
It's two sides of the same coin.
Women are supposed to be incapable of doing anything outside the home,
but, or because, their souls are purer than men's.
The maternal song cycle has four numbers, the second of which is in German.
It's from an opera, and we hear a mother and her two children,
the mother bemoaning the fact that her innocent husband is soon to be executed.
Her children try to assuage her grief.
I'll be back in about 13 minutes.
I'm not in your town to stay Said a lady old and brave To the warden of the penitentiary
I'm not in your town to stay And I'll soon be on my way
I'm just here to get my baby out of jail Oh, warden, I'm just here to get my baby out of jail
I tried to raise my baby right I have prayed both day and night
That he wouldn't follow the footsteps of his dad
I have searched both far and wide And I feared that he had died
But at last I found my baby here in jail Oh, warden, at last I found my baby here in jail
It was just five years today When his daddy passed away
He was found beneath the snow so cold and white
T'was then I vowed to take his ring And his gold watch and his chain
Then the county laid his daddy in the grave
Yes, warden, the county laid his daddy in the grave
I will pawn you his watch I will pawn you his chain
I will pawn you my diamond wedding ring
I will wash all your clothes I will scrub all your floors
If that will get my baby out of jail Yes, warden, if that will get my baby out of jail
Then I heard the warden say To the lady old and gray
I'll go bring your darling baby to your side
Two iron gates swang wide apart She held her darling to her heart
She kissed her baby boy and then she died Both smiling, she kissed her baby boy and then she died
I'm not in your town to stay Said the lady old and gray
I'm just here to get my baby out of jail Yes, warden, I'm just here to get my baby out of jail
Mutter, Mutter, ach verstehe die Mutter, Mutter
Verstehe, Schmerzen von der leidenden Natur Verhält mir mit dem Zeichen Mutterfarbe durch
Es ist traurig, dass der Herr und das Herr selbst in das Haus entstehen zu sollten
Nun bricht mir für das Herz Mutterfarbe durch
Spiegelt ihn ja als liebe Mutter Wir wahren Kinder, wir wahren Kinder
Sie will nicht zu dir aus Weisen auf die zarten Kinder Doch dort unten schlägt kein Herz
Und sehr wenig aus der Nasse Seh'n die braunen, süßen Hasen Und mein Geist bricht wieder her Zu meiner Opfer zweifelst
Sei nicht traurig, liebe Mutter Ach, er braucht ein leuchtendes Blut Sei nicht traurig, liebe Mutter Und dem Vater lebt er nie
Ach, er wird nicht wiederkehren Mir aus Blut ihn nicht erlösen
Also sind wir ganz gelassen Statt eines Freiras muss ich sterben
Herzlich muss ich nun das Hassen Da wir alle nun verderben
I'm alone, all alone My friends have all fled
My father, he's a drunkard My mother, she is dead I'm a poor little old child And I wander and weep
For the voice of my mother To sing me to sleep
I'm alone, all alone In this cold world so wild God looked down in pity A drunkard's lone child
He in pity looked down And paid his son to me And take me to dwell With mother and thee
She sleeps on a hill In a bed of cold clay How sad it did seem To lay mother away
She is gone with the angels And none do I see So dear is the face Of my mother to me
I'm alone, all alone In this cold world so wild God looked down in pity A drunkard's lone child
He in pity looked down And paid his son to me And take me to dwell With mother and thee
It is springtime on earth And the birds are so glad I listen and I wonder My heart is so sad
Sweet flowers around And strangers pass by But the farm of my mother No longer is nigh
I'm alone, all alone In this cold world so wild God looked down in pity A drunkard's lone child
He in pity looked down And paid his son to me And take me to dwell With mother and thee
Last night in my dream She seemed to draw near She kissed me as sweetly As when she was here
She smiled on me too And fondled my brow And she whispered, sleep on I'm a-watching you now
I'm alone, all alone In this cold world so wild God looked down in pity A drunkard's lone child
He in pity looked down And paid his son to me And take me to dwell With mother and thee
Blue Lies the Mist
Blue lies the mist They hide each hill and dale
The blue skies weep with us Who bid farewell
But have your days from memory Leave us fair
And bring you home To hearts who bid farewell
The Maternal Song Cycle
The first number in it, of course, was the Everly Brothers.
From another favorite album of mine, Songs Our Daddy Taught Us.
This is an album obviously made before they had their big pop hits.
And this is the songs that they used to sing on the radio on their father's radio show, Ike Everly.
Beautiful songs, some of them old, obviously from old English folk songs like Barbara Allen,
and others much more modern vintage.
I think I mentioned maybe in another program that it always gives you a little pleasure
when something that isn't well known, you find out that somebody else is a particular fan.
I read in an interview once that Paul Simon loves this album too, Songs Our Daddy Taught Us.
The tune was I'm Here to Get My Baby Out of Jail.
Those two words, but smiling, they've got to be two of the best words in any lyric.
She kissed her baby boy and then she died, but smiling.
Imagine having the nerve to write that lyric.
I envy it, I really do, I'm not kidding.
I think it has something to do with being Southern.
Southerners seem to have a limitless tolerance for sentimentality,
and I must say I get more and more like that.
The second one is Schubert from Schubert Opera.
Well, Schubert always wanted to have a big hit in opera.
Opera in Schubert's day was a little bit like musicals of the last generation.
It was the way to make it big.
And he kept trying to write operas, and he never had a hit.
Most of them were unfinished.
This is from an opera called Die Bergschaft, which had a text by Schiller,
or was based, rather, on a Schiller ballad.
And we heard Ellie Ameling singing the part of the mother and two boy sopranos
from the Helmond Concert Choir, being her two children.
This is from a nice album, Schubert on Stage, various excerpts from Schubert's operas.
Then we heard a very unique singer, Doc Boggs, an old Appalachian singer,
old Folkways album, another favorite album.
There's something about Doc Boggs singing that it's about as grisly as you can get,
and yet there's also sort of a joy in the grisliness.
And one of the things that makes his sound so unique
is that he often does what he does in this tune.
The tune is called, by the way, Drunkard's Lone Son.
What he does is that the banjo tuning is in the major.
You've got a major third up there, major chord kind of banjo tuning,
and yet the tune itself is in the minor, uses a minor third,
so you get a nice frequency there.
And then finally, a song by Charles Ives called Mists,
sung by Helen Boatwright, accompanied at the piano by John Kirkpatrick.
Mists is a song set to a text by Ives' wife, Harmony.
I think that was her name, or was it Counterpoint?
Just kidding, folks, no, her name was Harmony.
She wrote this as an elegy for her mother.
And my name is Peter Shickley, still,
and this is Still Shickley Mix from PRI, Public Radio International.
Speaking of Mendelssohn, as we were a while ago,
his grandfather was a very famous philosopher,
and the composer's father, the one in the middle,
used to complain that he grew up being called Mendelssohn's son,
and now he's called Mendelssohn's father.
On a lesser scale, my own father was in that position.
His father, René Shickley, was an Alsatian novelist, poet, and playwright
who was active and quite well known in European literary circles
from about 1910 to 1940.
He was a friend of Thomas Mann,
he was translated into several other languages,
and he had the sad distinction of having a play closed by the Kaiser in 1914
because of its pacifistic leanings and sympathy for France,
and then, although he wasn't Jewish,
having his books burned by Hitler for the same reasons two decades later.
Now, as a young man, my father hated being a vicarious celebrity
and would often, when asked if he were related to René Shickley,
reply, yes, distantly.
Now, he used to say that he didn't feel the same about my celebrity, such as it is,
but I was never completely convinced about that,
and I also think that it made him uncomfortable
that what prominence I have is based primarily on comedy.
He was a friendly, and jolly even, but basically serious man.
Whatever the case, I did take great pleasure years ago in reporting to him
that when I wrote to the University of Nebraska Press
asking for permission to use some poetry they published for one of my compositions,
I got a letter back with a P.S. on it that said,
Are you by any chance related to Rainer Shickley,
whose book Agricultural Policy we publish?
Well, things aren't always fair, you know.
My father loved music, but I feel about agricultural economics
about the same way I feel about electric eels.
I don't have anything against them, but I don't want to get involved with them either.
The paternal song cycle is ten minutes long and has three numbers in it.
Pay particular attention to the words, which are a little hard to understand,
in the third song. They're really nice.
We'll start off with the Everlys again.
In a vine-covered shack in the mountains
Bravely fighting the battle of time
Is a dear one who's weathered my sorrows
Is that silver-haired daddy of mine
If I could recall all the hard days
Dear old daddy, I've caused you to bear
If I could erase those lines from your face
And bring back the gold to your hair
If God would but grant me the power
Just to turn back the pages of time
I'd give all I owned if I could but atone
To that silver-haired daddy of mine
I know it's too late, dear old daddy
To repay for those sorrows and cares
Though dear mother is waiting in heaven
Just to comfort and solace you there
If I could recall all the hard days
Dear old daddy, I've caused you to bear
If I could erase those lines from your face
And bring back the gold to your hair
If God would but grant me the power
Just to turn back the pages of time
I'd give all I owned if I could but atone
To that silver-haired daddy of mine
Father, dear father, come home with me now
The clock in the steeple strikes one
You said you were coming right home from the shop
As soon as your day's work was done
Our fire has gone out, our house is all dark
And mother's been watching since tea
With poor brother Benny so sick in her arms
And no one to help her but me
Come home, come home, come home
Please, father, dear father, come home
Father, dear father, come home with me now
The clock in the steeple strikes two
The night has grown colder and Benny is worse
But he has been calling for you
Indeed he is worse, ma says he will die
Perhaps before morning shall dawn
And this is the message she sent me to bring
Come quickly or he will be gone
Come home, come home, come home
Please, father, dear father, come home
Father, dear father, come home with me now
The clock in the steeple strikes three
The house is so lonely, the hours are so long
For poor weeping mother and me
Yes, we are alone, poor Benny is dead
And gone with the angels of light
And these are the very last words that he said
I want to kiss papa goodnight
Come home, come home, come home
Please, father, dear father, come home
Hear the sweet voice of the child
Push the night winds with heat as they roll
Oh, who could resist this most plaintive of prayers
Please, father, dear father, come home
Oh, daddy, when you gonna write that big, big play
Oh, daddy, when you gonna get it real big, real big
Well, now that's a tall request
For such a small little girl
But I'll try, I'll try till I get it just right
Cause I'm gonna make it, maybe even twice, yeah
Oh, daddy, when you gonna make it to the big time, yeah
Oh, daddy, when you gonna blow up the big play
Well, it's like a backstage pass
Into paradise
There's a long, lonely waiting list
But I'm gonna give it everything I got to give, yeah
Oh, daddy, when you gonna be a big star
I got a suit and a pink guitar
Oh, daddy, when you gonna break it wide open
I don't know, but I still keep hoping
Oh, daddy, are you gonna make a million bucks
All it takes is a whole lot of luck, yeah
Oh, daddy, when you gonna have that, that, have that
Like you always say
Oh, daddy, when you gonna put on some stretch pants, yeah
Well, don't hold your breath
Cause it'll make you blue
But the whole lot was not over yet
And I aim to make the fat lady sweat, yeah
Oh, daddy, when you gonna make it to the top
All I know is I'm not gonna stop
Oh, daddy, what are you gonna buy your little girl
Hey, I'm gonna get you Disney World
Oh, daddy, you can hit the jackpot, yeah
Like I told you, now don't hold your breath, yeah
Oh, daddy, daddy
Oh, daddy
Hey, I'm gonna buy you Disney World
The Paternal Song Cycle
The first number was the Everly Brothers from that same album,
Songs Our Daddy Taught Us.
This tune, That Silver-Haired Daddy of Mine, a Gene Autry tune.
And, you know, a lot of people, when they think about angels,
how would angels sound?
They think of these little cherubs, boy sopranos.
Seems to me that angels sound like this, like the Everly Brothers.
Something about the way their two voices together,
the lack of vibrato, it's just,
it's just the music of paradise, as far as I'm concerned.
Then the second number was from a nice album called
Sentimental Songs of the Mid-Nineteenth Century.
Come Home Father by Henry Clay Work,
who was a rabid anti-alcohol person,
as well as anti-slavery.
And that, too, I think is a brilliantly shameless song.
It was sung by Sue Harmon, if it was a soprano,
and Nancy Bliss, if it was a mezzo-soprano.
It's hard to tell from the line of notes in this album.
My vote goes for Sue Harmon, soprano.
Lee Unger was playing the piano, and Erica Sharp, the violin.
That's a Tacoma record.
And then finally, a really nice tune by Adrian Ballew,
called Oh Daddy, and that was his daughter,
what is her name, Audie Ballew, singing with him on that.
And When You Gonna Make It to the Top.
That's a wonderful song, and it's a wonderful idea.
By the way, do you have kids?
Yeah, I'm talking to you.
Do you have kids, or do you have parents?
Sing with them.
Let me tell you, the family that sings together, sings together.
And that's Chickaly Mix for this week.
Our program is made possible with funds provided by this radio station.
We'll tell you in a moment how you can get an official playlist
of all the music on today's program, with record numbers and everything.
Just refer to the program number, which is 24.
This is Peter Chickaly saying goodbye,
and reminding you that it don't mean a thing
if it ain't got that certain je ne sais quoi.
Be good. See you next week.
¶.
If you'd like a copy of that playlist I mentioned,
send a stamped, self-addressed envelope to Chickaly Mix.
C-H-I-C-K-E-L-E, Shickily Mix.
Care of Public Radio International.
100 North 6th Street, Suite 900A, Minneapolis, Minnesota, 55403.
P-R-I, Public Radio International.