And now, Shickley Mix. Ready, Mr. Shickley? You better believe it. 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 is with a good deal of gratitude that I report that our bills are paid by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, by the National Endowment for the Arts, and by this commendable radio station,
where I produce these shows prior to, that's the best way to do it, their distribution by PRI, Public Radio International. And I need all the help I can get, because I am Mr. Low Tech himself.
To me, a Mac is a truck, and a website is a glimpse of Sergeant Joe Friday. But I do have friends who know that download does not mean a vein of goosefellows.
And sometimes they pass things along to me. Like the complaint that showed up on one of the internet bulletin boards about my signature intro.
The complainant took great exception to the proposition that all musics are created equal, pointing out that some music is better than other music.
Fortunately, someone else responded that what he or she thought I meant was that no type of music is inherently bad. There's good and bad stuff in all areas of music. I say fortunately.
Because asking me to defend myself on the internet would be like asking Charlie Brown to defend himself against Sonny Liston. I wouldn't even know how to get to the arena.
Of course, what's good and what's bad is a subjective call. But that's cool. I respect a lot of people with strong opinions, even if I don't agree with them.
My dad, for instance, wouldn't let me listen to Spike Jonze records while he was home. Now, in case some of you youngsters out there think that that's incredibly draconian,
let me point out that in the late 1940s, you didn't have an entertainment center in every room of the house. We had one radio, one phonograph, and one telephone, all in the living room.
So there wasn't much in the way of privacy. In fact, the first time I phoned a girl to ask her out on a date, I made the rest of the family, the whole rest of the family, leave the house.
They went for a drive while I made the call. She was a nice girl, Marianne, and I'll bet it took me months, months, to get up the courage to ask her out.
She was one of the few kids at Fargo High who played piano, or classical piano anyway, and she... You know, they won't let me turn this thing off. Excuse me.
Hello? Hi, honey, what's up? Well, of course I never told you about her. She turned me down. Well, I was devastated, but we never went out together. There's nothing to tell.
Okay, look, I gotta get back. I'll see you later. Bye. Huh. No comment. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, about my dad not wanting to be subjected to Spike Jonze.
The point is that... Oh, man. I hope it isn't gonna be one of those days. Hello? Oh, hi, Mom.
Yeah, well, that's very interesting, Mom, but I really gotta get on with the show, okay? I'll call you later. Okay, right, bye.
Well, my mother says that when they came back from the drive, I was happy. I was relieved that Marianne turned me down. Well, look, I was scared about going out on my first date, and I may have been asking
her to a dance, which would have been the scariest thing of all. So, yeah, maybe I was relieved, but that doesn't mean I wasn't heartbroken. I mean, if she had... This is incredible. Hello?
Really? Well, it's nice to hear your voice, too. Talk about a surprise. What's it been? 45, 46? 46 years?
Hey, I love to talk, but listen, now's not a good time. I'm... Are you here in town? Great. Well, I'll tell you what. There's a place called Smidgen's.
It's nice and quiet and sort of out of the way. It's by the old train station. You want to meet there in about an hour? Terrific. Yeah, well, there's a lot to talk about. Okay, see you there.
Wow, that was... Well. It's hard to remember what this show's supposed to be about with all these interruptions. You know, I'm sorry that my dad isn't around anymore, but at least it means he's not going
to call up and tell me why he didn't like Spike Jonze... I can't believe this. Hello? Uncle Otto, how are you? Do what do I owe...
Yeah. Yeah, no, I'm sure you're right. It was a German cultural thing, right? I mean, music was just not something you made fun of. Well, in all fairness, I'm not a fan of music.
And also, there was a strong Dixieland jazz element in Spike Jonze, and Dad didn't really like jazz much. Yeah, okay, Billie Holiday, but even there, I think that Strange Fruit was the only record of hers we had.
Hey, Otto, I've gotta get back to this show. Thanks for calling, and I'll see you next time I'm out, okay? Okay, bye. I really apologize, folks.
I don't think it's ever been this bad in terms of interruptions. Look, it's time to get to some music here. Today's show is about something I need to get to. some of the ways you can make music with just your body, aside from straight singing.
Now when it comes to the human body, there are certain sound producing techniques that I'll skip over. But if you're talking about unusual noises in a musical context, Spike Jones is certainly
one of the names that springs to mind, or rather one of the names that boing-oing-oing-oing-oings to mind. Here, in the humble opinion of this correspondent, is one of his best cuts.
As the sun pulls away from the shore, and our boat sinks slowly in the west, we approach the island of Lulu, spelled backwards, Ul Ul.
Ah, in the distance we hear Spike Jones and his wacky wacky kids.
Ka hawa lahe ka hua ewa ewa ewa, e kue ne lahe piri kohulu kula, puku halua e koi koi, ala ripu i ka bla.
Hawaiian War Chant, as rendered by Spike Jones and his City Slickers. You know, it's true that Spike Jones turned my life around in a way, if a nine-year-old's life can be said to be turned around.
He was one of the main reasons I got interested in music at all. But because of my involvement with the equally irresponsible music of PDQ Bach, a lot of people assume that the funny stuff was the only thing that made me feel like I was a kid.
That was the only thing that attracted me to the City Slickers. But that band was also my introduction to jazz, or at least the Dixieland style. Most beboppers and postboppers have no use whatsoever for Dixieland.
But at its contrapuntal, freewheeling best, to me it has the exhilarating feeling of ecstatic dancing.
Hey, what's that famous Matisse painting called?
The Dance, you know, with the dancers in a circle? If you asked what music would you put to that painting, I suppose a lot of people would say Ravel's Deafness and Chloe or something,
but I'd say Spike Jonze's band playing Dixieland. But of course, I'm not saying that I wasn't attracted to the funny noises. Around the time my brother and I were eight and ten,
we and our friends used to spend hours on summer afternoons acting out Spike Jonze records, and even when the richest kid on the block got a little home record-cutting machine recording our own wacky versions of popular songs.
My brother was just beginning to play violin, but aside from that and a few things to hit, like ashtrays and each other, we had no instruments, so we got pretty good at using our voices in unusual ways,
and we also worked on other kinds of mouth music, tongue-clicking for instance.
Most people do a soft tongue click, but I developed a considerable facility with the hard tongue click.
Changing the shape of your cheeks while you do a click produces a sound that never fails to enchant babies.
Later on, I used to wow them at parties by performing the On the Trail theme from Ferdie Groffet's Grand Canyon Suite all by myself. I mean, just humming and tongue-clicking.
Oh, no, hey, I can hear you as well as if you had the microphone, but there's no way I'm going to do it. Listen, tongue-clicking is something that, in me anyway, seems to be affected by age,
and I just can't do it as well as I used to, so forget it. You'll just have to take my word... Here we go again. Hello? Yes, sir. All right, yes, sir. Goodbye.
It went something like this.
Pretty silly, really. And in terms of virtuosity, nothing at all compared to the work of the masters. Carl Grayson was the guy who did that gliggity-glug singing on Hawaiian war chant,
and if you think it's easy, just try it yourself. We've got a suite coming up here, and the middle section of the first number is practically a concerto for Carl Grayson.
In the second number, we will hear singing, breathing, hissing, clapping, heel stomping, cheek snapping, tongue clicking, tooth tapping, and chest and thigh slapping.
The last number, in addition to some whistling, contains a duet between two chickens and laughing. I know several songs that include laughing, but this is the only one I can think of
in which the laughing is performed with definite pitches. The body music suite lasts about ten and a half minutes, after which I shall return.
Oh, what delight! Oh, what delight!
To be given the right to be carefree and gay once again
No longer slinking, respectively drinking Like civilized ladies and men
We miss a charming scene like this
In some secluded rendezvous That overlooks the avenue
With someone sharing a delightful chat
This and that, and cocktails for two
As we enjoy a cigarette To some exquisite chansonette Two hands are sure to slyly meet beneath
A serviette with cocktails for two
My head may go reeling
But my heart will be obedient With intoxicating music With intoxicating kisses For the principal ingredient
Most any afternoon at five We'll be so glad we're both alive Then maybe fortune will complete
The plan that all began With cocktails for two
Most any afternoon at five
We'll be so glad we're both alive Then maybe fortune will complete
Her plan that all began
With cocktails for two Oh
Spike Jones started and ended the body music suite,
started out with Cocktails for Two. I love the country fiddle illustrating the words exquisite chansonette. And ended it with Holiday for Strings.
In between, we heard Keith Terry performing his body music Keith was a roadie and stagehand for some of the PDQ Bach tours, and I hope he won't mind if I say that everything he does
traces its origins back to his work with me. But he probably will mind, because it isn't true. Very talented guy. You know, I was talking about my rendition of On the Trail being silly,
and as a matter of fact, sometimes I am more or less dumbfounded by how silly I could be. And then I listened to some of those Spike Jones records, or the radio appearances back then,
and you know, those were silly times. There was a lot of very silly humor, often abbreviated V.S.H., during the 1940s, and those guys were grown-ups.
Long after I became an adult, a delightful English friend of my wife's used to say, Peter, you're so stupid. And it's hard to argue with that. Starting with my name, I guess.
Joan Baez once recorded a bunch of videos, a bunch of pop standards. I don't think the album was ever released. And I did one chart for it. And when I was brought into the studio, which was full of commercial musicians,
you know, the jazz pop guys, the regular arranger, whose nickname was Trade, he said, I want to introduce you to the band. What's your name? I said, Peter Shickley. And he said, well, we'll have to do something about that.
But you know, I never got around to it. My name is still Peter Shickley, and the show is still Shickley Mix, from PRI. Public Radio International.
Today's show is called, I Sing the Body Eclectic. And we're looking at ways to make music with the body, other than ordinary singing. The singing we are about to hear is extraordinary.
It might be thought of as extended singing, but it's most often called throat singing. It consists of singing a low fundamental tone, and then by manipulating the various parts of the mouth,
focusing the natural overtones of that low note, until they are amazingly distinct and audible. The singer can actually produce a melody on top, by focusing on different overtones.
Now, my friend from college, David Robinson, he can sing two notes at once, but it's sort of a freakish thing, if he doesn't mind my saying so. He just goes, and two notes come out. But he can't really control them much.
It's more like a train whistle than a musically useful tool. Throat singing, on the other hand, is a highly controlled technique, in which one person can provide a drone and a melody at the same time,
which is why I call this sweetlet Two Voices for the Price of One. The first selection demonstrates several techniques of throat singing, and the second one shows what can happen
when you get a half a dozen or so throat singers together, doing independent parts. I'll see you in six minutes.
Our sweetlet, which is called Two Voices for the Price of One,
somehow a humorous title doesn't feel so good at the end of that sweetlet. It began with the ensemble Amarak from Tuva in Central Asia, on a Smithsonian Folkways recording,
and ended with an excerpt from Hearing Solar Winds, by David Hikes, director of the Harmonic Choir, who was singing. The label is Okora, distributed by Harmonia Mundi, France,
but it's an LP. I don't know if it's still around. It's an enthralling sound, and I don't use that word casually. It really puts you in thrall.
My mother says that people don't whistle as much as they used to, and she may be right. If so, I can't help thinking that it's somehow connected to my politically unpopular theory that the higher people sing,
the lower the standard of living gets, the less they sing spontaneously. When Vaughn Williams and Bartok and Lomax were out there collecting folk songs, they didn't go to bankers and lawyers and doctors.
They went to farmers and cowboys and laborers. When was the last time you heard somebody whistling as they walked down the street? Oh, all right, I suppose there are other factors, too.
The next three numbers feature whistling as an important element, but since it's all done by professional musicians, I call this the work-while-you-whistle suite. I'll be back in eight and a half minutes.
The opera halls are waiting for the curtain to arise. A thunderstorm arrives. A fading of expectancy. A surge in fan-affectancy. Expectancy and ecstasy.
Expectancy and ecstasy. Shhh! Curtain!
The street, a strain on
a tuneless threadbare red shawl.
It is tattered, it is torn.
It shows signs of being in love.
It's the tune my uncle hummed from a sweet
but was sad and seemed to slow his feet.
And see him shuffling down to the planet Earth.
The work-while-you-whistle suite
began with two members of the Bob Crosby Orchestra performing the big noise from Winnetka, Bob Haggart whistling and playing bass, Ray Bowduck on drums,
and then Jan Degaitani and Gilbert Kalish performed Memories, a charming binary song, as in Binary Star, by Charles Ives.
And finally, we heard Fred Lowery whistling Rossini's William Tell Overture. He's pretty good, all right. You might call him the mother of all whistlers, as opposed to Whistler's mother.
That's originally off an LP he had all to himself, but this cut is part of a CD called Incredibly Strange Music, Volume 1.
The host of this program, on the other hand, is called Peter Shikley, and the program is called Shikley Mix, from PRI. Public Radio International. I sing the body eclectic,
ways beyond singing of making music all by yourself. Everybody assumes, because of my reputation as a musical demi-mondaine,
that I'm a master of all the less highly regarded ways of melodically utilizing the body. But a lot of those techniques elude me, or I avoid them.
For instance, the old finger-in-the-cheek routine. The inside of my mouth is very sensitive. I do about four or five of those, and I've got like a rash for a week. Same with cheek-snapping.
That's for masochists. Speaking of masochists, I once had a guy demonstrating his virtuosity as a, you know, you knock your knuckles on the top of your head and change the cavity of your mouth to produce pitches.
I'm not even going to do it. And it was backstage after a concert, and he said, it's too noisy here, you can't hear it. So he grabs two empty Coke bottles and starts clonking himself
on the top of his head while mouthing the William Tell Overture. Not for me. And you know whistling with your hands cupped, sort of like making an ocarina with your hands? When I was in sixth grade, I was a patrol boy,
helping younger kids get across the street safely. I had a, you know, a broad white canvas belt thing that went around my waist and diagonally up over one shoulder. Very military. Anyway, I spent a lot of time on that kid.
And I tried for hours to whistle by cupping my hands. Someone had shown me how to do it, but it was beyond me. Then one day, I blew a long, beautiful note, and that was it.
I never could do it again. I'm telling you, I've had a life full of disappointment. Our last suite featured whistling featured. In the next one, it's simply regarded as one of the many sounds
available to the composer, which is why I call the suite A Whistler in the Band. It has three movements and lasts about five and a half minutes. See you then.
A Whistler in the Band began with the first part of a piece by Alfred Schnittke called Mozart. It's based on a Mozart fragment for two violins,
and that was Mateja Marinkovic and Thomas Bose on violin. And then we had Ennio Morricone, the theme song of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, surely one of the great movie titles
of all time. And then finally, a little instrumental piece played by kids who look from the picture to be, say, between the ages of four and seven.
This is from a set of pieces called Music for Children by Carl Orff and Gunhild Kaetmann. I can't believe, after the way this show started off, that we've gone on to talk about
music for children for as long as we have without the phone ring. I guess there's a lesson there, huh? Hello?
Well, I tell you, I don't usually do requests. You know, I don't have that much right easily available. But what did you want to hear?
Okay, the tune is called Manhattan, the Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island. And it's Larry Parker whistling without any accompaniment. And it's an LP released in the 19th century.
And it's written in the 1970s by Dixie Swing Bop Productions, New York City. I think we can do that. Thanks for calling.
And 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 in a 50-minute break
to watch a special playlist of all the music on today's program with album numbers and everything. Just refer to the program number. This is program number 119.
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.
Thank you. . . . .
. . . .
.
If you'd like a copy of that playlist I mentioned,
send a stamped self-addressed envelope to Shickley Mix. That's S-C-H-I-C-K-E-L-E, Shickley Mix.
Care of Public Radio International, 100 North 6th Street, Suite 900A, Minneapolis, Minnesota, 55403.
PRI Public Radio International.