A Fargo Christmas

Schickele Mix Episode #80

Part of The Schickele Mix Online Fan Archive

Premiere
1994-12-17
“Peter, are you ready?”
It's funny, I could get into this Santa Claus suit last year. Well, anyway, uh, ...

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Transcript

[This is a machine-generated transcript, corrected by hand and formatted as HTML. You can download the original as an .srt file.]

In just a moment, it's Schickele Mix with Peter Schickele. Coming up at 1 o'clock this afternoon, it is a 1 o'clock earlier start for the Met, for the first program for the broadcast year, which is La Juive. Peter Schickele's got a special program, though, a special holiday program that's going to start in just a moment. He is ready, I hope. He had this real weird red and white suit. Peter, are you ready?
It's funny, I could get into this Santa suit last year. Well, anyway, here's the theme.
[theme: Mozart, Symphony No. 24]
Hello there, I'm Peter Schickele, and this is Schickele 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. This is a season for presents, and one of the best presents you and I have ever received is the fact that the bills for this show are paid by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, by the National Endowment for the Arts, and by this munificent radio station where every day is a holiday, and where, this is a little paradox here, they put up with my presence without my giving them any presents.
Our program is distributed all over the place by PRI, Public Radio International.
Although I wasn't born there, I consider Fargo, North Dakota to be my hometown. That's where I spent my teenage years, got interested in music, and have friends that I still keep up with. But I went east to college and ended up in New York City. Now, of course, New York City is full of people like me from the Midwest, especially in the arts.
But some native New Yorkers, and there are a few of those around, tend to think that life in the Midwest is like a series of Norman Rockwell Saturday evening post covers. Now, the trouble with the Norman Rockwell image is that it doesn't make room for the lively, non-mainstream musical activities that went on in my time there. The Fargo-Moorhead Community Orchestra, playing a piece by Messiaen in 1950 or so.
William Masselos, playing the Charles Ives Concord Sonata in a recital and then coming out to our house for a party and spending most of the time talking to us teenagers. Percy Grainger, playing a recital at Moorhead State Teachers College, my piano teacher, giving me pieces by Bartok, Prokofiev, Roy Harris, and William Schuman, and frequent string quartet evenings at various people's homes.
The Norman Rockwell image also ignores the darker side of life everywhere, yes, even life in the Midwest.
My high school friend, a talented, interesting girl who later committed suicide, another friend who had a nervous breakdown, a third who was killed in a car accident. But you know, looking back on it now, 45 years later and half a continent away, I'm sometimes impressed by how Norman Rockwellian it was. We really did go around Christmas caroling.
We really did put pieces of plywood on sawhorses to have big holiday dinners with 20-25 people. Somebody really did dress up as Santa Claus and hand out some presents. If there are any young children listening, I'm just kidding. Today's program is called A Fargo Christmas, and I might as well warn you right now that, well, I may wax a touch sentimental.
But, hey, that's one of the things this season of the year is for. And speaking of seasons, Christmas time in this country is traditionally a time for celebrating winter in general, at least musically. Many of the songs you're hearing these days in the shopping malls are not actually Christmas songs, they're "isn't winter great" songs.
Now personally, I will never think of winter as great. I am a cold-blooded animal, and I regard the theory that our blood circulates throughout our bodies as one of the great hoaxes in the history of science. You can't tell me that if you use one of those fluffy Swiss quilts that only come up to your waist, the rest of your body will be warm too. Now, we moved to Fargo in 1947, and the first few winters happened to be real doozies.
I remember that, towards the end of winter, it was almost impossible to shovel the sidewalk, because the snow was piled so high on either side that you couldn't throw the new snow high enough to clear the banks. I remember getting up at 6 o'clock in the morning to shovel the driveway.
The sky is pitch black and it's 20 below, and just as you're finishing, you hear the dreaded sound of the city snowplow, and you stand there glumly as the snowplow pushes the snow from the street up into your driveway. And I remember one winter in particular when I kept falling down on the icy sidewalks. I was a pretty physical guy, and gravity and I have always gotten along pretty well together. We have an understanding.
But that one winter, I slipped on the ice again and again. And you know, the strange thing was that it always and only happened when there were girls my own age around. No, as far as I'm concerned, winter isn't half as much fun as sex and drugs, but it gets you into just as much trouble. Nevertheless, some people like it.
[music: Ritchie, "Wintergrace" (Kentucky Christmas); Jean Ritchie]
[music: Shapiro, "Winter Weather" (Christmas on the Bandstand); Peggy Lee & Art Lund/Benny Goodman & His Orchestra]
[music: Berlin, "White Christmas" (Doo Wop Christmas); The Statues]
Our first song cycle was called Weather. And it began with Jean Ritchie, a song called Winter Grace. And let me read what she says in her liner notes to this album, Kentucky Christmas. Ice and snow mean hardship to city people, as I learned when I came to New York and had my first taste of rush hour during a January storm. How different on our Kentucky mountainside farm.
Here the cold months mean a needed breathing space. The land, the animals, people, all rest and gather strength of body and spirit to begin the growing cycle again in the spring. I wanted to sing about this feeling of winter grace and peace. There was no old song for it, so I made this one. Then we had Benny Goodman and his orchestra doing Winter Weather.
There were two vocalists. The first was Peggy Lee, another North Dakotan, by the way. She was born Norma Dolores Eggstrom, and the second was Art Lund. And finally, that splendid version of White Christmas by The Statues. One thing you usually don't have to worry about in Fargo is the possibility that Christmas might not be white.
And I must admit that unlike in New York City, the snow in Fargo stays pretty white and pretty, pretty. In fact, it's beautiful. And I love the way, on very cold and bright days, the white smoke coming out of industrial smokestacks seems to be as motionless and solid as if it were in a painting. But, well, it's this thing about winter going on for month after month after month after month after month.
That's what I don't miss, even now. My name is Peter Schickele, and the program is Schickele Mix from PRI, Public Radio International.
A Fargo Christmas. Lots of Scandinavians in that part of the country. I was always told that if I ever wanted to start a fight in a bar, all I had to do was say, Out of the weeds came a thousand Swedes chased by one Norwegian. Fortunately, I've never had a particular yen to start a fight in a bar. And one thing you could count on during the Christmas season was hearing the perennial novelty hit,
[sung: the opening of "Yingle Bells"]
sung by Yogi Jorgensen. I think that was his name. You don't hear that number one heck of a lot in New York City. But you know, it's amazing how many secular Christmas songs quote Jingle Bells in their instrumental introductions. White Christmas just did that. One of the strongest associations we Americans have with this season is sleighs and sleigh bells, even though most of us have never ridden in a sleigh, one horse open or any other kind.
My observation about sleighs is that they seem to inspire particularly corny songs. Our next suite is called sleigh- [missing audio] based, all in cuteness departments. They're pretty trite, too. But you know, back in the late 60s, when I was doing a lot of arranging for singers, I sometimes took pride in trying to make a song that I didn't really care for sound better than it was. Gilding the crabgrass, you might say.
And I've found versions of these three songs that I think help a lot. But I'll see you in about eight and a half minutes.
[music: Trad. arr. M. Ellington, "Jingle Bells" (Christmas on the Bandstand); Duke Ellington & His Orchestra]
[music: Anderson, "Sleigh Ride" (Christmas with the Chicago Chamber Brass); Chicago Chamber Brass]
[music: Marks, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" (Doo Wop Christmas); The Cadillacs, with the Jesse Powell Orchestra]
Okay, sleigh bells. He didn't really have that low note, you know. He just sort of makes you think he does. Okay, we began with the best of the big band's Christmas on the Bandstand album that we heard the Benny Goodman from before. This was Jingle Bells by Duke Ellington and His Orchestra, apparently the only Christmas record that Duke ever made.
Then, from an album called Christmas with the Chicago Chamber Brass and the Glen Ellyn Children's Chorus, we heard Sleigh Ride by Leroy Anderson with just the brass, and this may be the only version of Sleigh Ride ever done that doesn't actually use sleigh bells. Here's to the imagination.
And then finally, from the Doo-Wop Christmas album, from which we heard White Christmas earlier, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, by The Cadillacs, with the Jesse Powell Orchestra.
And it's Tidbit Time at the Old Sleigh Garage. Actually, today's tidbit is in two parts, and they're both quite unusual, as befits a tidbit. The first part comes from some incidental music that Shostakovich wrote for a production of Shakespeare's King Lear. This is the first of ten short songs for The Fool. Now why, you may ask, am I playing a Shostakovich song for The Fool and King Lear as a tidbit on this show?
It's a valid question, and here's the answer.
[music excerpt: Shostakovich, “King Lear,” “10 Fool’s Songs”; Stanislaw Suleimanow/ Rundfunk Symphonie Orchester Berlin/Jurowski]
Don't ask, I don't know. Why Shostakovich associated King Lear's fool with Jingle Bells is beyond my ken. I played the cut to someone who speaks Russian, and he said that the words are appropriately incoherent. I mean, it is a fool after all, but there's something about the fool wanting someone to meet him under the bush. He said that Jingle Bells is and was well known in Russia and associated with the West, So, maybe there was some political comment intended.
Fool equals West? I don't know. Who can plumb the depths of the Soviet or anti-Soviet mind? Later, my informant called back and said that it had occurred to him that the word used for fool means not just fool in general, but court jester. And court jesters often wore little jingle bells as part of their costumes. Hey, should this guy be writing a Ph.D. thesis or what? Anyway, here's the second part of today's duple tidbit,
[music: Trad., "Jingle Bells" (Kazoophony); The Kaminsky International Kazoo Quartet]
Jingle Bells, as interpreted by the Kaminsky International Kazoo Quartet, from the album Kazoophony. Where but on Schickele Mix can you hear not one, but two Slavic versions of Jingle Bells? Nowhere, that's where. And speaking of nowhere, I'm Peter Schickele, the eponymous host of Schickele Mix, from PRI, Public Radio International.
I've been reminiscing about Christmas in Fargo, and so far we've been dealing with the secular side of the season. Although in general my parents didn't go to church much, they, and I think especially my mother, were very aware of their Protestant heritage, and they wanted my brother and me to at least be introduced to the experience of communal worship. So we joined the Plymouth Congregational Church on the north side of Fargo, whose minister at that time had a touch of the rebel in him.
I guess it's hard in this post-60s world to imagine that in the late 40s it was a bit shocking to see on the signboard in front of the church that this Sunday's sermon was called Bongo, Bongo, Bongo, I Don't Want to Leave the Congo, which was the name of one of the more profound pop songs of the day. We were quite involved in the church for a while, but it didn't stick, at least in terms of church-going.
Although in the long run, I certainly think that there were some permanent things of value and interest imparted to me. I remember Christmas Eves with particular fondness in my family. My father originally came from Germany, and we followed his family's tradition of exchanging presents on the night before Christmas.
We gathered around the tree, lit with real candles, and my mother got out the huge Wilcox family Bible, with the page for recording births and marriages in the front, and read the Nativity story from St. Luke. And Nativity is the name of our next song cycle. The first number is in Spanish. The text begins, News, news by your faith. Speak, brother, for to us is born, he is born indeed as man, I know well, God incarnate, Jesus Christ of Nazareth.
The second piece is in Latin and tells the story of the shepherds going to Bethlehem to see the newly born baby. The third is in English and I'll be back in six minutes.
[music: Anon., "Nuevas, nuevas! Por tu fe!" (Sacred & Secular Music from Six Centuries); Hilliard Ensemble]
[music: Hindemith, "Pastores loquebantur"; Christiane Baumann, soprano/Michael Baumann, piano]
[music: Trad. arr. Schickele, "Down in Yon Forest" (Noel); Joan Baez]
Our song cycle, Nativity, began with an anonymous 15th century piece called Nuevas, nuevas, por tu fe, sung by the Hilliard Ensemble, from an album called Sacred and Secular Music from Six Centuries. Then we had the second of Paul Hindemith's Christmas motets, Pastores Loquebantur, sung by Christiane Baumann, accompanied by Michael Baumann.
And then finally, Joan Baez singing Down in Yon Forest from the album Noel, the music arranged by yours truly. Notice how I never mention the arrangement when it's Benny Goodman's band or anything. Only in one case do I mention the arranger. Now finally, one of my warmest memories of those cold Fargo Christmases is of caroling from house to house.
As regular listeners to this program know, I believe in singing. I think singing, especially with other people, is a therapeutic experience, it's a religious experience, it's energizing and entertaining and entirely capable of lifting you out of your body. And if you're like me, and it's December, and it's Fargo, and you're outside, you don't really want to be in your body. You want to be music itself, entering the ears of the folks who are about to invite your body in for some hot grog.
We're going to end with a set of four carols, the first two of which are arrangements of what you might call standards, ones we might have sung in front of the Jensen's house in Fargo. The third is not as well known, and the last, to my mind, required a lot of nerve to write. Imagine deciding to set the words of the world's most famous Christmas carol to brand new original music and actually pulling it off. It's a beautiful piece.
I'll be back in a little over nine minutes. It would be great if you had some cocoa ready.
[music: Trad., "Wassail" (A Baroque Christmas from the Metropolitan Museum of Art Concerts); Julianne Baird, soprano/Aulos Ensemble]
[music: Trad. arr. Schickele, "Good King Wenceslas" (Noel); Joan Baez]
[music: Trad., "Sussex Carol" (A Baroque Christmas from the Metropolitan Museum of Art Concerts); Julianne Baird, soprano/Aulos Ensemble]
[music: Oldham, "Silent Night" (Nativitas); Pamela Williamson, soprano/Lyra Pringle Pherigo, flute/Wesley Kelly, harp/Kansas City Chorale]
Our last song cycle was called Carols. There were four of them. The first was from A Baroque Christmas from the Metropolitan Museum of Art Concerts, Julianne Baird and the Aulos Ensemble. What a beautiful singer. That was Wassail, the first one. Then we had an instrumental of Good King Wenceslas from the Joan Baez Noel album.
The third one was back again from the Julianne Baird album. This was the Sussex Carol. And then that last one, the beautiful setting of the traditional words for Silent Night, that was by Kevin Oldham, and Pamela Williamson was the soloist, with Lyra Pringle Pherigo on the flute, and Wesley Kelly on harp.
It's from a CD called Nativitas by the Kansas City Chorale, although we didn't actually hear them on that cut. And as you heard, the composer does refer to the Gruber melody, the famous melody, in the flute part, and then the voice when it sings Alleluia. Well, we actually have some time left over. So I'd like to play the Joan Baez version of the traditional Silent Night.
It really is the right way to end things. When we have our annual sing at my friend Dick's house, we always end with Silent Night. It's interesting about very simple songs. Why are some of them sort of trite and others just beautiful in their simplicity? Now, you can't get a more simple-minded song than Down in the Valley.
[sung: the opening line of "Down in the Valley"]
But I love that song. I used to sing that as a lullaby for my kids. And Silent Night is certainly one of those songs that, as much as it's played and as much as it's heard, and as sentimentally as it is sometimes presented, it's just a very moving song and somehow the right way to end a Christmas sing.
[music: Gruber arr. Schickele, "Silent Night" (Noel); Joan Baez]
Joan Baez, singing Silent Night from the Noel album. Have a very good holiday. Peace on Earth.
[music: Daquin, "Noel en Musette" (A Baroque Christmas from the Metropolitan Museum of Art Concerts); Aulos Ensemble]
And that's Schickele 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 faithful members. Not only that, our program 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 80. The music you're hearing is Louis-Claude Daquin, Noël en Musette, Bagpipe Carol, from the Julianne Baird album we've been listening to. And the voice you're hearing is that of Peter Schickele 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.
[music: Daquin, "Noel en Musette" (A Baroque Christmas from the Metropolitan Museum of Art Concerts); Aulos Ensemble]
If you'd like a copy of that playlist I mentioned, send a stamped self-addressed envelope to Schickele Mix. That's S-C-H-I-C-K-E-L-E, Schickele Mix. Care of Public Radio International, 100 North 6th Street, Suite 900A, Minneapolis, Minnesota, 55403.
Announcer: PRI, Public Radio International.