And now, Shickley Mix. Well, old man, you ready? As ready as I'm likely to be in my lifetime. 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 how good it is to report that our bills are paid by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, by the National Endowment for the Arts, and by this here radio station,
within whose solid walls I am ensconced, and whence our program is thrown to the four winds by PRI, Public Radio International.
On today's program, we will examine the influence of Balinese gamelan music on the pokas of Bavaria, well, actually... all of southern Germany, between the World Wars.
And the first thing we'll hear today is not a musical example, it's from an extremely rare documentary recording of Kaiser Wilhelm's nephew, Hans Otto Bonn,
reading from the diary he kept during his trip to the South Pacific in 1921. It's a... Wait a minute, where is that? Where did I put that thing?
It's a... cassette. What? Did I put it back up on the shelf? Maybe this is it.
Oh, man!
Wow, that coffee is hot!
I mean, hot!
Man, I should sue that fast food place for having such hot coffee. Oh, man, and now it's all over everything. How am I gonna... Okay.
Here's a cassette. Let's see... Oh, brother, that coffee has smudged the label so you can't read it. Well, let's put it in and see what it is.
Okay, here we go.
Hmm.
Well... This is obviously one of my karaoke tapes here. The voice track is obviously turned down. I'm gonna take this thing off here.
All we're hearing is the accompaniment. You know, it's interesting, actually, listening to that accompaniment without knowing what the song is, because... Well, that phrase in the introduction, Be-boo-dee-doo-doo-dee-doh, that sounds familiar,
and maybe somewhat unique, if I may be permitted, a small oxymoron. But, well, the accompaniment of the song in general, the instrumental texture and the chord pattern,
it could be any one of a lot of songs. You know what I think it is? I'll bet it's the old George Jones number, Hearts in My Dream. Okay. You know what I'm gonna do?
I'm gonna rewind this tape, and then I'll sing the first verse of Hearts in My Dream, and at the end of the verse, I'll turn up the right-hand channel,
which is where the voice on the tape should be, and we'll see if I made the right call on what song it is. Okay? Now...
Man, I wish the station manager would let me turn this phone off during the show. Hello? Oh, hello, sir. That's okay.
It doesn't ring that often, really. What's... That's right, Hearts in My Dream, George Jones. Well, not absolutely certain, but I'm pretty sure. Why, what do you think it is?
Oh... Oh, I don't know about that, sir. I mean, I suppose it could be, but... Fifty dollars? Fifty dollars, huh? Okay, you're on.
Right, and I say it's Hearts in My Dream. Well, let's do it. Let's find out. Goodbye, sir. Okay, there's 50 bucks riding on this. Now, I'm gonna give myself a little echo here.
I need all the help I can get. And we're ready to roll. I'll sing the first verse, after which I'll turn up the voice on the tape. Here we go.
I dreamed that all the hearts I'd broken
Came to visit me And in my sleep they came to pay me
For their misery
They were all so torn and tattered Oh, such tales of woe
It was I who called them all
And my conscience hurts me so R-D-I-V-O-R-C-E
Rats!
Becomes final today Me and little J-O-E We'll be going away
I love you both And this will be pure H-E-double-L for me Oh, I wish that we could stop this
D-I-V-O-R-C-E
Well, you can't win them all. Let me turn this echo off here. D-I-V-O-R-C-E.
Sung, according to the karaoke tape I see here, in the style of Tammy Wynette. Hey, 50 bucks is a lot of money.
You know, I'll bet the station manager wasn't really serious about... Hello? Yeah, okay.
No, no, you might as well. I mean, there are so many deductions from my paycheck already, what difference is another 50... I mean, I hope there's enough to cover. You know, but what can I say? You were right.
By the way, what made you so sure? I knew it. Okay, goodbye, sir. I knew that'd be it. He recognized the intro.
That's the only part that's distinctive. Well, I'm not quite sure what to do here, folks. This is such a mess here. Let's see.
Well, here's another cassette. Also illegible. Let's give it a try. Here we go.
Okay, now those four clicks at the beginning mean that this is the classical equivalent of a karaoke tape. This sounds like a string quartet with the first violin missing, if you ask me.
Okay, let me turn this over and see if there's a complete performance on the other side, you know, with the first violin. With a little luck here. Okay, here we go.
Just as I thought, the last movement of the Lark Quartet by Haydn. What a difference when you add that first violin, huh? See, and that's interesting.
The thing that can make it hard to identify a piece from just the accompaniment is that very often the accompaniment has nothing to do with the melody. That is, it complements the melody,
but it doesn't share any musical material with the melody, except perhaps in terms of harmony. But rhythmically and melodically, it's different.
In fact, the fact that it's different is often what makes the melody stand out. The accompaniment serves its function by contrasting with the melody. If it were too much like the melody,
it would compete with the melody, rather than provide a background for the melody. I wish I could show you... Okay, wait a minute, here. This is a good example.
Here's a piece in which all the voices share the same melodic material, with the result that there's no feeling of melody and accompaniment. Everybody's equal. It's all melody.
The king's singers singing, Just going to praise, A l'ombre d'un bassinet. No headliners in that composition. Very democratic music. Importance of all parts-wise.
But an awful lot of the music in this world consists of melody with accompaniment. The accompaniment may be a drum beat, a drone, an oompa, oompa, oompa, oompa, or whatever.
But whatever it is, the accompaniment has to distinguish itself from the melody. And not upstage it too much. Although, actually, that last part isn't necessarily true.
Sometimes the accompaniment is more interesting than the melody. In fact, when I did a lot of arranging in the late 60s, I used to pride myself on being able to make some songs sound more interesting than they really were.
You know, let's forget about polkas and gamelans. I still can't find that tape. And besides, I'm sort of into this accompaniment business now. I put together a few things here while the kings were singing.
Here's an Elton John song. And I'm going to sing a bit of it for you from the lead sheet, which just happened to be sticking out from under this mess here.
A lead sheet just has the melody, the lyrics, and chord symbols. No piano part or even a bass line. So I'll just be improvising a very simple accompaniment on the basis of the chord symbols here.
Let me swing around to the authentic instrument. I'll get the lead sheet set. And give myself a little echo here. Don't forget about that.
And let's see how this goes.
When I look back
Boy, I must have been greedy
Bopping in the country Fishing in the stream
Looking for an answer
Trying to find a sign Until I saw your city lights Honey, I was blind They said, get back, honky-cap
Better get back to the woods
Well, I quit those days And my redneck ways And I
Oh, the change is going to do me good
I do love this echo. Okay, now. Harmonically, that song isn't terribly interesting.
But the melody is full of nice twists. There's some nice little pictures in the words. Still, you probably wouldn't want to listen to it long with that oompa accompaniment, technically known as a boom-chick accompaniment.
As far as I'm concerned, Elton John's recording of this is definitely a case of an okay song being transformed into an absolutely great number thanks to the accompaniment.
I must have been greedy Bopping in the country Fishing in the stream
Looking for an answer Trying to find a sign
Until I saw your city lights
Honey, I was blind They said, get back, honky-cap Better get back to the woods Well, I quit those days And my redneck ways
And a silver mine
It's like trying to drink whiskey Oh, from a bottle of wine
Well, I read some books And I read some magazines About those high-density ladies Down in New Orleans
And all the folks back home Well, say, that was a fun day And I was a fool They said, oh, believing the Lord Is the golden rule
They said, get back Well, I quit those days And my redneck ways
And ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh Oh, change is gonna do me good
Get back, honky-cats
Well, I quit those days And oh, change is gonna do me good
They said, stay at home Boy, you gotta turn the phone Levin' down the city, boys
Is gonna break your heart But how can you stay When your heart says no? How, how can you stop When your feet say go?
You better get back Honky-cat Better get back to the woods Well, I quit those days And my redneck ways
And ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh Oh, change is gonna do me good
Get back, honky-cat City ain't a where as I like
Sell my mind It's like time to drink whiskey Oh, yeah
Get back, honky-cats
Get back, honky-cats Get, get back Whoo!
Elton John singing Honky Cat, which he wrote with Bernie Taupin. You know, even though the accompaniment threatens to upstage the melody there,
it nevertheless remains distinct from the melody. It doesn't really share material with the melody, except in a few cases, maybe. That Chinesey piano figure
and those great licks in the brasses and saxes written by Gus Dudgeon, are completely different from the melody. There are honky-cats in that wind section. It takes one to know one,
and my name is Peter Schickely, and the show is Schickely Mix from PRI, Public Radio International. Today's program is called Background Information.
We're running a check on some of the accompaniment characters without whom those prima donnas of musical texture, the melodies, would find that it feels pretty lonely on stage when there's nobody in the pit.
You don't need a huge orchestra down there. Sometimes just a guitar and a tapping foot will do it. We're about to hear a very ingenious and satisfying guitar part, but once again,
it's completely distinct from the melody. An interesting, finely worked setting for a simple but lovely stone.
Bird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings And learn to fly
All your life Only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these sunken eyes And learn to see All your life
You are only waiting For this moment to be free
Blackbird fly
Into the light of a dark black night
Blackbird
Into the light of a dark black night
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings
And learn to fly
All your life
You are only waiting For this moment to arise
You are only waiting
For this moment to arise
You are only waiting
For this moment to arise
Paul McCartney and friend, singing Blackbird, and playing one of the tastiest accompaniments ever written for guitar. Now that would be called a solo number, but there are, of course,
three music makers involved, and I'm not counting the bird. Paulie's voice, two of them sometimes, Paulie's guitar, and Paulie's feet. For tidbit time today,
we're going to contradict something that's self-evident. It's a truism that in order to achieve the effect of melody and accompaniment, it takes at least two units, two people, or two hands, or voice, and something else.
Rare indeed is the person who, using nothing but his God-given monophonic voice, can create the effect of melody plus accompaniment. But rare, or even rare indeed,
does not mean non-existent.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings And learn to fly All your life
You were only waiting For this moment to arrive Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings And learn to fly All your life You were only waiting For this moment to be free
Blackbird flying All your life
You were only waiting
her hair, her hair fly, Bum, ba, doo, yeah, to the light of the dark black night. Doo, doo, doo, bum-a-doo, boom, doo, boom, doo. Wee, doo, way, doo, way, doo.
Bah, doo, bah, doo, bee, doo, boo, doo. Baa, baa, doo, ba, doo. Baa, doo, bum, baa, na, na, ba, doo, dee, doo.
Baa, doo, baa, na, na, baa, da, da, la, da, da, da.
Ding, ding, brown wings, I learned to fly, Ba, baa, doo, baa, doo, boy, oh, life, Only waiting for this moment to arrive
Blackbirds singing in the dead of night Sing this song in my eyes and learn to sing All your life
Only waiting for this moment to be free
Into the light of the dark black night
Blackbirds singing in the dead of night
Into the light of the dark black night
Bobby McFerrin's virtuoso rendition of Blackbird. I said it was voice only. Well, there's a little whistling in there. So sue me.
One of the nice things about living on the same planet for a fairly long spell is being able to watch things grow. I remember, seems like decades ago in New York City,
watching the news on TV and the little human interest section was about a young street singer who did these amazing things with his voice.
And here he is now, a fine jazz singer, a chart-topping pop singer, and a symphony orchestra conductor to boot.
Bobby McFerrin's ability to single-voicedly create melody and accompaniment brings us to an interesting question, namely, what is the sound of one hand clapping? Or one finger? Or one finger snapping?
Or is it possible to have an accompaniment without a melody? The reverse, an unaccompanied melody, is obviously possible, and not uncommon. But what about an unmelodied accompaniment?
Although that may seem to be a logical impossibility, I think we should forsake the realm of pure logic in which we have been dwelling up until now, and consider the factor of musico-social conditioning.
What's your idea of accompaniment? Or, to put it another way, what's your idea of melody?
Keith Terry and Cross Pulse in a number called Into Ancestral Earth. But I bet you're supposed to say Into Ancestral Earth. The liner notes say, Images of Central Park in New York,
Spruill Plaza in Berkeley, Congo Square in New Orleans, places where people come together to drum. When I moved to the Park Slope section of Brooklyn in 1971,
there were often large groups of guys on the corner a couple of blocks away, just drumming and drumming for, was it really hours? I don't know, but I loved listening.
Now how long would I have wanted to listen to the same thing in a concert hall? Would it then sound like a long accompaniment with no melody? I can imagine someone who isn't into Stravinsky,
hearing the Symphony in Three movements for the first time, and thinking, in this section we're about to hear, hey, very nice groove, but when's the melody gonna start?
Sounds great to me, just as it is. But like I said, I can imagine somebody leaping up on the stage and stopping the performance. Hey, Igor, listen man, that's some mighty fine groundwork you're laying down there,
but you don't have anybody, like, walking on it, dig? Now I see you got a Hammond B3 up here on the stage. Mind if I sit in? Hey, hey, nothing trashy, man. Just a nice, free-floating line. I mean, you got the drum.
And the dancing feet. I wanna see the smile. What do you think?
Will it last a very long time, this way?
Say what?
Will it last a very long time, this way?
Will it last a very long time, this way? Hey, man, we're talking about 30, 40 seconds here. Just that last section you played with the walking bass, okay? All right, hit it.
Gilding the Lily. Unnecessary melodification. I could probably get sued for malpractice on that one. You know, I always loved those early rock and roll bass lines.
And, uh... And many years ago, I came up with a nice accompaniment figure for a song.
With a right-hand thing there on the same chord. But I never came up with a good melody for it. And then one day it occurred to me, with the help of Stravinsky's example, I should think, that it didn't really need a melody.
It was fine just by itself. I added a middle section based on another bass line, came back to the first one, and wrapped it up. You've heard of the minute waltz. This is the minute stomp.
The last movement, stomp, played by the composer himself, from my small serenade for piano. When the serenade was played at a concert in the early 60s,
one of my colleagues on the Juilliard faculty, and a fellow composer, said to me, I like your serenade, Peter, but that last movement doesn't belong in a concert hall.
And that comment was one of the reasons I decided to get out of academe. I'm no longer a teacher, but my name's still Peter Schickely. The program is still Schickely Mix,
and it still emanates from PRI, Public Radio International. We're collecting background information here, for a highly unsystematic investigation of accompaniments.
We've heard some music that sounds, at least to some ears, like accompaniments without melodies. Now we're going to hear an accompaniment that was written to stand alone.
That is, it was written as a self-sufficient keyboard piece by one composer, and then years later another composer turned it into an accompaniment by writing an original melody which goes with it,
but of course, as we have come to expect, is very different from it. Thus helping to ensure that the new melody will receive top billing. The first piece is virtually unchanged in its use in the second piece,
but it is transposed to a different key, the opening bars are duplicated as an introduction, a couple of chords are added at the end, and an apparently spurious measure in the middle
that is now omitted in performances of the original piece is used by the appropriator. You never know what's going to happen to your children after you're gone.
The first prelude from Bach's well-tempered Clavier, Book I,
played by David Moroni, followed by the Ave Maria by Gounod, performed beautifully, breathing new life into a war horse, by Felicity Lott and Graham Johnson.
You know, that Bach prelude seems to be irresistible to other composers. I'm sure there are many more, but right offhand I can think of about a half a dozen pieces that make use of that prelude.
Of course, I'm responsible for three of them myself. Speaking of myself, which I'm loath to do, let's go out with an even larger case of musical kidnapping, one that I had a hand in uncovering.
P.D.Q. Bach's one-act opera A Little Nightmare Music uses Mozart's famous serenade Eine kleine Nachtmusik as its entire accompaniment.
That is, P.D.Q., like Gounod, but predating Gounod considerably, I'd like to point out, simply wrote melodic lines for his singers that go with the pre-existing Mozart piece,
thus saving himself the trouble of composing those time-consuming orchestral pieces. Here's the last movement of the Mozart.
Sir Neville Mariner conducting the Orchestra of St. Martin in the Fields in the last movement of Mozart's Eine kleine Nachtmusik. Now, in the finale of P.D.Q. Bach's opera,
as Mozart, this is a character in the opera, as Mozart leads the string ensemble, the smug Salieri is taunted by the mysterious playwright Peter Schlafer.
Salieri, who considers Mozart a good composer but hopelessly unbusinesslike, and therefore no threat, becomes so infuriated by Schlafer that he tries to poison the irritating writer.
At the crucial moment, however, the servant, P.D.Q. Bach himself, bumps Salieri's arm, causing the poison to go into Mozart's glass instead.
The Mozart has been called an opera composer who also wrote in other forms. And what I find interesting about this finale of P.D.Q. Bach's opera
is how much, without any change whatsoever beyond the addition of vocal lines, this purely instrumental work sounds like the orchestral writing in parts of the later Mozart operas.
Do you think Wolfgang heard secret vocal lines in his head while he wrote the Jupiter Symphony?
threat at all, he's no threat at all, tis no, no sweat at all. You're lying, you're lying, and I can tell, and I can tell you where to go, my friend. You're lying, but not well. Well, I'm beginning to get quite angry, angry, so I'll be an angry man, I'll be a very angry man.
You're crazy, you're silly, and you're a bore. You cannot face the awful truth, my friend. I cannot take much more, oh no, I cannot take much more, more, more, more, more, more.
You've worked so hard to make your music as inspiring as you could, though he works half as hard, his music's twice as good, but he is no threat at all, he's no threat at all, tis no.
Oh, no sweat at all. You're lying, you're lying, and I can tell, and I can tell you where to go, my friend. You're lying, but not well. Well, I'm continuing to get quite angry, angry, yes, now you're an angry man, now you're a very, very angry man.
Ah! Ah! Ah! I'm not just a creep, I pity, I pity, I pity you. Well, I'm not just a creep, I pity, I pity you.
I don't need your pious pity, and what's more, I don't need you.
I don't need you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you I don't need you, you, you, you, you.
I am a Christian man with patience and forgiveness in my soul, but if you push me, I might lose my self-control. Hey, you are no threat.
at all, you're no threat at all, tis no, no sweat at all, that does it, I've had it right
up to here, you cannot face the awful truth, my friend, your end is drawing near, I do
believe I have finally shown, shown me why, I am an angry man, I am a very, very angry
man, I've got some poison in this bottle here that should do the trick, oh no, Herr
Bach, look what you've done, you oath, you bumped me, and you made me poison, the wrong
one, stupid prompter, stupid prompter, that's what you are, that's what you are, that's what you are, that's what you are, that's what you are, that's what you are, that's
The finale of A Little Nightmare Music, an opera in one irrevocable act by P.D.Q. Bach.
The part of Antonio Salieri, a successful composer, was sung by James Billings, baritone, and Peter Schlafer, a mysterious writer, by Bruce Ford, tenor.
That was the New York Pickup Ensemble, under the direction of yours truly. And, oh, look what's under this. Here's another cassette.
Also washed out, of course. Get the coffee off of this. Let's try this one. I still someday would like to play you that tape of that Wilhelm's nephew there. Let's see what this is.
I didn't know I had this on cassette. Well, that's Sickly 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. Thank you, members. And 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 number...
And this is Peter Sickly 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 sicklymix, that's S-C-H-I-C-K-E-L-E, sicklymix,
care of Public Radio International, 100 North 6th Street, Suite 900A, Minneapolis, Minnesota, 55403.
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