In just a moment, it's Shickly Mix with Peter Shickly, 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 Les Juives.
Peter Shickly'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.
Hello there, I'm Peter Shickly, and this is Shickly 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 presents
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 Masellos, 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 Granger, playing a recital at Moorhead State Teacher's College.
My piano teacher giving me pieces by Bartok, Prokofiev, Roy Harris, and William Schumann.
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.
Now, 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.
This is the time so well we love, the time of all the year, when winter calls with chilling
breath for fireside and good cheer, a time for man and beast to stand and feel the season
turn, to watch the stars for secret signs and God's true lessons learned, for the time
when the corn is all into the barn, the old cow's breaths of frosty wine, when the morn
along the fellow field doth silver shine, and when cold morning's radiant star shines
over hill and plain, we know anew that little babe is born to us again, and man and beast
and bird and tree, each one in his own place.
We bow our hearts and thank our God for winter rest and grace, for the time when the corn
is all into the barn, the old cow's breaths of frosty wine, and the morn along the fellow
field doth silver shine.
We bow our hearts and thank our God for winter rest and grace, for the time when the corn
is all into the barn, the old cow's breaths of frosty wine, and the morn along the fellow
field doth silver shine.
I love the winter weather, so the two of us can get together, there's nothing sweeter,
finer, when it's nice and cold, I can hold my baby closer to me, and collect the pieces
that I do need, I love the winter weather, cause I got my love to keep me warm.
I love the winter weather, cause I got my love to keep me warm.
I love the winter weather, so the two of us can get together, there's nothing sweeter,
finer, when it's nice and cold, I can hold my baby closer to me, and collect the pieces
that I do need, I love the winter weather, cause I got my love to keep me warm.
I love the winter weather, so the two of us can get together, there's nothing sweeter,
finer, when it's nice and cold, I can hold my baby closer to me, and collect the pieces
that I do need, I love the winter weather, cause I got my love to keep me warm.
I love the winter weather, so the two of us can get together, there's nothing sweeter,
finer, when it's nice and cold, I can hold my baby closer to me, and collect the pieces
that I do need, I love the winter weather, cause I got my love to keep me warm.
I love the winter weather, so the two of us can get together, there's nothing sweeter,
finer, when it's nice and cold, I can hold my baby closer to me, and collect the pieces
that I do need, I love the winter weather, cause I got my love to keep me warm.
I love the winter weather, so the two of us can get together, there's nothing sweeter,
finer, when it's nice and cold, I can hold my baby closer to me, and collect the pieces
that I do need, I love the winter weather, cause I got my love to keep me warm.
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, with every Christmas card I find, with every Christmas
card I find, may your days be merry, and all your gifts be white, and may all your Christmases
be white.
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 Shickley, and the program is Shickley 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, jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way, 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-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.
I'll see you in about eight and a half minutes.
♪
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 the 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.
♪
Jingle Bells, as interpreted by the Kominsky International Kazoo Quartet
from the album Kazoophony.
Where but on Shickly Mix can you hear not one but two Slavic versions of Jingle Bells?
Nowhere, that's where.
And speaking of nowhere, I'm Peter Shickly,
the eponymous host of Shickly 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 churchgoing,
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.
But before we did, 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.
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 third piece is in Spanish,
and tells the story of the shepherds going to Bethlehem to see the newly born baby.
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.
For to us is born, he is born indeed as man, I know well, God incarnate,
Jesus Christ of Nazareth.
Et videamus hoc verbum glott factum est,
quod dominus ostendit nobis.
Vid venerunt festinatis, vid in venerunt Maria,
et Joseph, et in fontem positum in prescipio.
Identis autam, quod globirut i verbum, quanti tubera velisti paroc.
Quod omnesque aureaerut viratisunt,
idiosque dicta errant apas doribus ad ipsos.
Maria autem conservabat omnia verbalic,
conferens in cordis unum.
Quod diversi sunt pastores,
glorificantis et laudantis deum,
in omnibus quod errant, et vid errant,
sipunt dictam est ad ios.
The Bells of Paradise
Down in yon forest there stands a hall,
the bells of paradise I hear them ring.
It's covered all over with purple and pearl,
and I love my Lord Jesus above anything.
In that hall there stands a bed,
the bells of paradise I hear them ring.
It's covered all over with scarlet so red,
and I love my Lord Jesus above anything.
At the bedside there lies a stone,
the bells of paradise I hear them ring,
the sweet virgin Mary knelt upon,
and I love my Lord Jesus above anything.
At the bed's foot there grows a thorn,
the bells of paradise I hear them ring.
Whichever blooms blossoms since he was born,
and I love my Lord Jesus above anything.
Over that bed the moon shines bright,
the bells of paradise I hear them ring,
denoting our Savior was born this night,
and I love my Lord Jesus above anything.
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, Pastorius Loquibuntur,
sung by Christian 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.
It's a beautiful piece.
Come butler, come fill us a bowl of the best,
Then we hope that your soul in heaven may rest.
But if you do draw us a bowl of the small,
Then down shall go butler, bowl and all,
Then here's to the maid in the lily-white smock
Who tripped to the door and slipped back the lock,
Who tripped to the door and pulled back the pin,
For to let these jolly wassailers in.
Wassail, wassail, all over the dock,
How toasty it is when in the rain it is frown,
How bone it is made of the white-capped tree
That the wassailing hall will drink today.
Wassail, wassail, all over the dock,
How toasty it is when in the rain it is frown,
How bone it is made of the white-capped tree
That the wassailing hall will drink today.
On Christmas night all Christians sing
To hear the news the angels bring.
On Christmas night all Christians sing
To hear the news the angels bring.
News of great joy and of great mirth,
News of our merciful King's birth.
Then why should men on earth be so sad
Since our Redeemer made us glad?
Then why should men on earth be so sad
Since our Redeemer made us glad?
When from our sin he set us free,
Oh, how to gain our liberty!
Oh, loud of darkness we have lied
Which made the angels sing this night.
Glory to God and peace to men,
Now and forevermore, amen.
Glory to God and peace to men,
Now and forevermore, amen.
SILENT NIGHT
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright.
Round yon virgin, mother and child,
Falling so tender and mild, Sleeping peace.
Silent night, holy night,
Shepherds quake at the sight.
Glories streaming from heaven afar,
Heavenly hosts sing alleluia, Christ is born.
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright.
Angels let us sing alleluia to our King,
Christ is born.
Alleluia, alleluia.
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 Aulis Ensemble.
What a beautiful singer.
That was Wassail, the first one.
Then we had the 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-Farigo 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 Hallelujah.
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.
Down in the valley, the valley so low.
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.
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin, mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night, holy night
Shepherds quake at the sight
Holy string from heaven afar
Heav'nly hosts sing alleluia
Christ the Savior is born
Joan Baez, singing Silent Night from the Noel album.
Have a very good holiday.
Peace on earth.
And that's Sickily 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's website
This is program 80.
The music you're hearing is
Louis-Claude Ducan, 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 Sickily
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.
¶¶
If you'd like a copy of that playlist I mentioned,
send a stamped, self-addressed envelope to Sickily Mix.
That's S-C-H-I-C-K-E-L-E, Sickily Mix.
Care of Public Radio International,
100 North 6th Street, Suite 900A, Minneapolis, MN 55403.
P-R-I, Public Radio International.