Good afternoon, you're tuned into WOUB, a broadcast service of Ohio University.
This is Peter Shickley, and I'd like to introduce you to some of the great endings I have known.
Yeah, man.
www.woub.org
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. But not all the good things in life are free,
so I'm glad to report that our program, unlike a romance novel, is underwritten. By, to be specific, the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, by the National Endowment for the Arts,
and by this courageous radio station, which dares to provide me with the studio facilities to go where no single pair of ears has gone before,
producing discoveries that are distributed to the farthest galaxies by PRI. Public Radio International. I once heard a performance of Schubert's Trout Quintet many, many years ago.
The players were either serious amateurs or part-time professionals, I can't remember. Anyway, there seemed to be a certain amount of friction between the pianist and the string players.
I don't expect it was conscious, but when the piano part had a lot of fast notes, and the string parts were easy, the string players would push the tempo a bit, so the pianist really had to scramble.
And then, when the situation was reversed, the pianist would speed up so that the string players were hanging on for dear life. I don't know if it was personal animosity or simply a lack of ensemble experience,
but whatever it was, it must have gotten to the violinist, because at the very end of the whole piece, he made one of the most unfortunate boo-boos I've ever heard. Here's how the Schubert ends.
Now, with the help of my trusty, authentic instrument here, which comes with the studio, I'll try to recreate the performance I heard back there in the 50s. The violinist didn't just play the last note out of tune.
He played it a full half-step sharp. That is, he played the next note up. And, of course, since he... didn't know until it was too late that he was going to play a wrong note, he played it with great conviction.
Even fine players occasionally play a wrong note, but if you're going to do it, you'd better hope it happens somewhere in the middle of the piece. Because if it happens on the last note, it sits there, it hangs in the air,
it slides down the walls, like when the top comes off the blender. Now, it stands to reason that the last thing you experience in a piece remains a strong part of your memory of it.
As far as I'm concerned, when it comes to memorable gestures, endings are as important as beginnings. I'm talking mostly about Western music here, by the way, and music intended for formal performance,
whether it's in a concert hall or a dance. In some cultures, and in some kinds of music, you just sort of gradually get going, and eventually you sort of turn it off.
Today's show is called Great Endings I Have Known, and we're going to start off with a pair of surprise endings. Both of these pieces close with a real, heh heh, gotcha!
I'll be back in about eight and a half minutes.
And in the meantime let you take a guess at what kind of a surprise ending but she doesn't have those, but she does have some,
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The powers of love, they are so good to me They help me out of my mind
And you will see just what I mean to know
Hey, hey, I, oh you Well I know a story that's not very old
And this is the story of three heads and both of those
Hey, hey, I, oh you
I know my hero does too but you are my love
Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow
Well now, oh wow
Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow
Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow
Well now, oh wow
Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow
Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow
Well now, oh wow
Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow
Well now, oh wow Well now, oh wow
Well now, oh wow El土当然
Two Cute Endings Vowels of Love by the Poets from an LP called Dangerous Doo-Wop
and the last of Samuel Barber's Excursions for Piano played by Jeffrey Jacob. By the way, I spell the two in Two Cute Endings, T-W-O,
but there may be those who would spell it T-double-O. Hey, lighten up. Speaking of vowels, you can go a long way on just two vowels.
Peter Shickley, Shickley Mix, P-R-I. Or you can use them all. Public Radio International. We're talking about wrapping here, wrapping it up, that is,
as I have the pleasure of introducing you to or getting you back together with some of the great endings I have known. And now tidbit time is upon us,
that special time when I pull something off the shelf that's just a little bit unusual or maybe downright jaw-dropping. Today's tidbit is so unusual
that it's a fine illustration of the adage, the exception proves the rule. The rule, by which I mean, as always, a description rather than a prescription,
is that early symphonies end with a tutti, that is, with everybody playing and usually loudly. Well, we've already heard a Mozart symphony that doesn't end loudly, but I would be willing to bet that today's tidbit
is the only symphony written during the first, say, hundred years of symphony writing that ends softly and with only two instruments playing, two muted. Two muted violins. It's a great story.
Haydn's employer, Prince Nicholas, spent more and more of his time at his country estate called Esterháza, built over a swamp between 1720 and 1766.
It was a beautiful palace, but way out in the boondocks. For five years, it had been the prince's habit to spend the spring and summer in Esterháza
and the winter in Eisenstadt, only 30 miles from Vienna, which is a very beautiful place. This is where the musicians came from. But in 1772, not only were the musicians' wives and children
forbidden, for reasons of space, to live at the country palace, but Prince Nicholas stayed later and later into the fall without giving any sign that he planned to go back to Eisenstadt or Vienna at all.
The musicians asked Haydn for help, and he wrote what is now called the Farewell Symphony. Okay, now, just picture this. Here we are.
It's a dark afternoon towards the end of November, 1772. The prince and his court sit down for the usual concert. Musicians stood to perform in those days,
and each music stand had a candle holder. Haydn composed the music in such a way
only 30 miles from Vienna which is where the musicians came from But in 1772 not only were the musicians' wives and children forbidden for reasons of space to live at the country palace
but Prince Nicholas stayed later and later into the fall and never went back to Eisenstadt or Vienna at all The musicians asked Haydn for help
and he wrote what is now called the Farewell Symphony Okay, now just picture this Here we are It's a dark afternoon towards the end of November 1772
The prince and his court sit down for the usual concert Musicians stood to perform in those days and each music stand had a candle holder
It was a way that during the last section of the symphony the players, one at a time snuffed their candles out and left the room until only two violins were left Let me just read this here
The stately music room was almost dark with just Haydn and Tomasini playing their shadows casting strange shapes on the stuccoed walls Then the piece ended
and the leader and princely kapelmeister blew out their candles and left The prince now rose and said If they all leave, we must leave too The musicians had meanwhile collected in the antechamber
where the prince found them and smiling said I understand, Haydn Tomorrow the men may all leave Whereupon he gave the necessary order to have the princely horses and carriages made ready for the trip
That's from H. C. Robbins Landon and A. C. Dease Haydn biographers quoted in this good little Nimbus CD program booklet telling you what would I do without liner notes
Here's the last part of Haydn's Farewell Symphony Surely one of the most brilliant uses of music in the history of diplomacy
is to use the
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Dancing in the street Baltimore, NBC Dancing in the street Can't forget the Motor City Dancing in the street All we need is music
Sweet music There'll be music everywhere There'll be swinging, swaying And records playing Dancing in the street
Dancing in the street Oh, it doesn't matter what you wear Just as long as you are there Just as long as you are there
So come on, every guy, grab a girl Everywhere around the world There'll be dancing Dancing in the street
Dancing in the street Way down in L.A. Every day they're dancing in the street Dancing in the street Let's form a big strong line Dancing in the street
Get on time with Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Across the ocean and blue Me and you Dancing in the street
Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street
Dancing in the street
Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street
Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street
Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street
Dancing in the street
Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street Dancing in the street
oldest religious types of music in Andalusia, it is usually sung without accompaniment during the Holy Week religious procession in Seville. It tells of the passion of Christ and is usually
addressed to the image of the crucified Christ that is carried in the march or to the Virgin Mary. As described by Gilbert Chase, the singer, usually a woman, stands on a balcony overlooking the
procession, grasping the iron railing firmly in both hands. The grip tightens as the emotion grows. The procession stops so that the image which is being addressed remains stationary while the
seita is being sung. A fanfare of trumpets gives the signal for the procession to move on.
Great album, in the humble opinion of your host, whose name is Peter Shickley. The program is
Shickley Mix from PRI, Public Radio International. As I said earlier, the fade-out is dependent on the recording studio.
The tremendo agnente is a common instruction in music, but in point of fact, it's impossible on most acoustic instruments to diminish literally to nothing. On a wind instrument, for instance,
you can blow less and less, but at a certain point, and it comes before inaudibility, the note will simply stop. There just isn't enough air pressure to produce a definite pitch.
The same is true, incidentally, with singing. Try it yourself. With a string instrument, it would require an almost superhuman amount of air pressure to produce a definite pitch.
It requires a human control of the bow to diminish a sustained note to the point of inaudibility, at least to the player's ears. But of course, most audience members, it is to be sincerely hoped,
are farther away from the instruments than are the players. And sometimes composers have asked
for a true fade-out in concert conditions. Berg's Lyric Suite for String Quartet is an example. The composer directs that the violist,
the conductor, the conductor, and the conductor repeat the last two-note figure until it's no longer audible.
The composer directs that the conductor repeat the last two-note figure until it's no longer audible.
The LaSalle Quartet, playing the end of the Lyric Suite by Alban Berg. If you want to do a live fade-out, it's easier to pull off with one instrument than with a group.
Even the Beatles, great fans of the fade-out, put regular endings on their songs when they performed live, as those of us who were not at Shea Stadium know from seeing the video.
What Gustav Holst did for the end of the planets was to have a women's chorus off-stage, whose singing disappears into nothingness at the end. Now, I don't know how it's done on this recording.
I suspect that the choir got some electronic help in disappearing, which is fine. But what has often been done in live performances in the past, if possible,
is to have an open door between the stage area and off-stage where the chorus is. And the door is gradually closed during the last measures.
The end of the planets, as we have known them. Sir Colin Davis conducting the Berlin Philharmonic and the women of the Berlin Radio Choir. Okay, that's all very well and good.
But with a recording studio, you can have complete control. You don't have to have a recording studio. Here's the end of an arrangement I did of the Beatles song, Rain. Does that make it an arraignment? Now, let's not get legal here.
By recording the brasses completely separately, that is, on separate tracks on the tape, after we had already recorded the rest of the orchestra,
we could fade them to absolute nothing without having to put them out in the hall and gradually close the door. Not only that, though. There's an evocative quality to fading out instruments
while they're playing with nothing. It's a normal force. It creates quite a different feeling from having them play softer and softer.
Lennon and McCartney's Rain, from the LP Good Time Ticket, arranged by the father of my wife's daughter's brother. Now, let's get back to a couple of complete pieces.
The first one is... Oops. Here goes the very old recording alert. This is... Are you ready for this? A 10-inch LP. Here, let me turn that off.
Now, it may be an old recording, but it's a nice, simple-minded little tune. And at the very last moment, the piece ends in a totally different key from what it's been in all along.
The second number ends on the expected chord, but with an altered note that we've only heard a couple of times before in the piece. The ending of the first piece is deliciously unusual.
The ending of the second piece is quite usual, but no less delicious. Two delicious endings, the second of which will occur about five and a half minutes from now.
Here we go.
All right, here we'll go. Look at that note. One minute and a half. I just want to see you. One minute and a half. Now we can't wait. One minute and a half.
One minute and a half. Now, listen to this.
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Two delicious endings.
Jerry Mulligan was first with Bark for Barksdale, off an old fantasy 10-inch LP, Chet Baker, Carson Smith, and Chico Hamilton.
Then that other gorgeous piece was by Adrian Villert, a 16th century composer. It's called O Dolce Vita Mia, translated here as O Sweet Light of My Life.
Performed by a group called Tragicomedia on a CD called O Dolce Vita that features the King's Singers, although not, as you may have noticed, on that cut. You know, one of the things I love
about a lot of modern renditions of Renaissance and medieval music is that they really show the Moorish influence, the Arab influence, the Middle Eastern influence
with the freedom and the kind of embellishment. I'm not a scholar. I don't know that that comes... that comes from the Middle East, but it sure feels like it does from the Middle Eastern music that one has heard.
Boy, that is beautiful. Well, since we've been dealing with endings, we're going to go out with a piece which is an ending. The piece itself is an ending. Now, I have to admit that I haven't been to jazz clubs much recently,
but in the old days, groups used to signal the end of the set by having a little short thing they'd play that meant they were going to take a break. And this is Jerry Mulligan's sign-off riff.
He called it utter chaos.
And that's Shickly Mix for this week. Our program is made possible with funds provided by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, by the National Endowment for the Arts, and by this radio station and its members.
We thank you, members. And not only that, our program, in spite of everything, is distributed by PRI, Public Radio International. We'll tell you in a moment, how you can get an official playlist
of all the music on today's program with album numbers and everything. Just refer to the program number. This is program 79. And this is Peter Shickly saying goodbye
and reminding you that it don't mean a thing if it ain't got that certain je ne sais quoi. You're looking good. See you next week.
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¦ Thank you.
Thank you.