And now, Shickly Mix.
Well, are we ready, Mr. Shickly?
We are ready. 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.
And believe me, it is good to report that our bills are paid
by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting
and by the National Endowment for the Arts
with additional support from the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences
and from this important radio station
where I am provided with the wherewithal to produce what is
after it's been produced, distributed far and wide by PRI,
Public Radio International.
And it's time to put on your walking shoes, folks.
Here we go again with...
Marchers, on the march.
Another installment in Shickly Mix's ongoing...
In-depth survey of every march ever written.
And today we're going to be talking about
the very interesting relationship
between the marching field and the concert hall.
There's been some hanky-panky going on
between those two for several centuries, at least.
And a little bit later in the show,
we're going to be presenting a lively and infotaining quiz feature
that is guaranteed to test your march IQ,
to take you to the very edge and perhaps beyond
of your march knowledge.
Yes, sir, folks, you'll be racking your march brains
and scratching your march head through the march hair that's on it.
And who wants a rabbit on his head?
Just kidding, folks, it's all part of the good, clean fun
that makes Marches on the March
the most popular survey of every march ever written on the radio today.
Question, can you define march responding in three words or less?
Answer, certainly, that's only one word.
A simple definition might be music intended
to facilitate the coordination of stylized walking
by large or small groups of people or other animals.
Using that definition,
marches have presumably been around for millennia, at the very least.
And they increased their range
to include the rarefied habitat of concert music centuries ago.
They probably made their way into the orchestra via opera.
Certainly ever since the birth of the symphony orchestra in the 18th century,
composers have been writing marches intended for your ears only,
or rather, your ears only, not your feet.
Here's an excruciatingly brief survey
featuring one example each from the 18th, the 19th, and the 20th century.
The inter-era symphonic march suite lasts about 6 1⁄2 minutes.
Okay, shh, the conductor's on the podium.
He's about to start the orchestra.
Hut, 2, 3, 4. Hut, 2, 3, 4.
¦
The inter-era symphonic march suite began with Mozart's Hoffner March,
played by Beecham in the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra.
Next came Bizet from Jeux d'Enfants, from Children's Games,
with the Orchestre de Paris under Barenboim.
And finally, the march from Prokofiev's opera The Love for Three Oranges,
and that was Nikolai Malko conducting the Philharmonia Orchestra.
If you think of the Prokofiev as the theme song of a radio show about the FBI,
you have just dated yourself.
Which, come to think of it, is what Narcissus would have liked to have been able to do.
Those were symphonic marches, but definitely marches, not symphonies.
The beat was always clear and steady,
and the textures and formal divisions were simple and well-defined.
You could march to those pieces quite satisfactorily,
although with the Mozart you'd have to march either quite fast or quite slowly.
Well, what do you know, it's tidbit time already here on the marching field of Endeavor.
On another installment of Marches on the March,
I mentioned that there don't seem to be many popular new marching songs around these days,
songs like Onward Christian Soldiers and Battle Hymn of the Republic.
In spite of the fact that there's a lot of violence around us,
we actually live in a comparatively anti-military era,
as I'm sure any member of your local VFW will tell you.
Judging by our movies, for instance, we like our violence, and the more the better,
to be perpetrated by individuals, not armies,
whose members have sacrificed their individuality by marching in step and following orders.
Here's a song that was written during the First World War and revised during the Second.
We'll hear two versions, the concert version for chorus and orchestra,
and then a rendition by the composer himself at the piano.
Hang on to your hats!
And then, oh wait, don't give a damn,
As they go through the fighting ground,
When the boys are now ready to go,
They are ready, they are ready to go,
They are ready for the fight,
The shooting guns and bombs,
They are ready, they are ready,
When the angry allies meet the foes of the front,
The party then flies in arms,
And then the world will stand,
The battle cry of freedom,
And then the modern world can cry.
When we're through this cursed war,
A survey sneaking counter,
Maiming slaves of men,
Then let all the people rise, And stand together in praise of humanity,
The sons are made wise,
Those who self-expose,
While the people have no say.
When we're through this cursed war, A survey sneaking counter,
Maiming slaves of men,
Then let all the people rise, And stand together in praise of humanity,
The sons are made wise, Those who self-expose,
While the people have no say.
When we're through this cursed war, A survey sneaking counter,
Maiming slaves of men,
Then let all the people rise, And stand together in praise of humanity,
The sons are made wise,
Those who self-expose,
While the people have no say.
When we're through this cursed war, A survey sneaking counter,
Maiming slaves of men,
Then let all the people rise, And stand together in praise of humanity,
The sons are made wise,
Those who self-expose,
They're part that people can live in a world where all will have the same,
Their conscience always of their country's aim,
Which is liberty for all.
Hip, hip, hooray, you'll hear them say as they go to the fight and run,
Brave boys are now in action,
They are there, they will help to free the world,
They are fighting for the right,
But when it comes to might,
They are there, they are the warhorses,
As the allies beat up all the warhorses,
The boys be there fighting hard,
And then the world will shout,
The battle cry of freedom,
Chanting on a new campground,
Chanting tonight,
Chanting on a new campground,
While it's rallying round the flag of the people's new free world,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom.
When we're through this cursed war,
All started by sneaking culture,
Making slaves of men,
God damn him,
Then let all the people rise,
And stand together and play times humanity,
Those wars are made by small, stupid, selfish boys and groups,
While the people have no say,
But there'll come a day,
Hip, hip, hooray,
When they'll smash all dictators to the wall,
Then it's build a people's world nation,
Hooray,
Every honest country free to live his own native life,
They will stand for the right,
But when it comes to might,
They'll be there, they'll be there, they'll be there,
And the people, not just politicians,
Will rule their own lands and lives,
And you'll hear the whole universe,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom,
Chanting on a new campground,
Chanting tonight,
Chanting on a new campground,
For it's rallying round the flag of the people's new free world,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom,
Then it's build a people's world nation,
Hooray,
Every honest country free to live his own native life,
They will stand for the right,
But when it comes to might,
They'll be there, they'll be there, they'll be there,
And the people, not just politicians,
Will rule their own lands and lives,
And you'll hear the whole universe,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom,
Chanting on a new campground,
Chanting tonight,
Chanting on a new campground,
For it's rallying round the flag of the people's new free world,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom.
Charles Ives.
Talk about individualism.
He sounds like he's a member of one of those county rights groups.
First we heard David Zinman conducting the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra
and Chorus in They Are There,
and then we were treated to, or assaulted with, or let in on,
or enlightened by a personal rendition by Ives and his piano,
recorded in 1943, when the composer was about 69 years old,
but obviously still full of kidney effluvia and vinegar.
Terrific piece.
I've got to say, though, that my own feelings about Ives are ambivalent.
The stuff I like I really love,
but a lot of his music sounds turgid to me,
sort of heavy-footed, particularly harmonically,
sometimes more obstinate than brave.
Tender sometimes, especially in the songs, but rarely sensuous.
He was a real New Englander and quite macho in his own iconoclastic way.
I must say, the more I find out about the American musical scene a century ago,
the more impressed I am by what he was up against.
I have to admit to agreeing with a statement I heard Elliot Carter make once,
that he found Ives' music more often interesting than good.
Now, sometimes people have asked me how I could stand living in New York City for so long.
Okay, you want to know one of the things I love about New York?
Some years back, the arts section of the Sunday Times
asked a bunch of well-known musicians to name the composers who are,
in their opinion, the most underrated and the most overrated.
In my answer for overrated, I mentioned Ives, for the reasons I've given.
The day that article appeared, towards the end of the afternoon,
I was crossing a street in Brooklyn,
and a man I didn't know from Adam was crossing in the opposite direction.
He looked at me, and just before we passed each other, he said,
Ives, how could you? Now, I love my hometown of Fargo, North Dakota,
but there's nothing like the Apple, you know what I'm saying?
That was definitely one of the best things that's ever been said to me.
Much better than, hey, aren't you Peter Shickley,
the host of Shickley Mix, from PRI, Public Radio International?
Today's show is called, From the Marching Field to the Concert Hall,
in Two Quick and Easy Steps. At least, I think that's what it's called.
I was thinking of, instead of in two quick and easy steps, saying,
in two easy quick steps, you know, because a quick step is a fast march,
but somehow, From the Marching Field to the Concert Hall,
in two easy quick steps. I don't know, it doesn't really register, does it?
Well, anyway, the show's called something like that, and who cares?
Because the moment you've all been waiting for has arrived, folks.
That's right, ladies and gentlemen, cadets and cadetettes.
It's time to play...
Who Wrote That Thing?
Yes, it's time for you to match your wits against our contestants.
Or actually, to match your wits against those of our contestants.
You may think you know your classical composers, but do you really?
You know, over the years, many perfectly serious symphonic composers
have occasionally written marches for band.
Well, we all like to go slumming once in a while.
Today, we're going to hear some of those marches and let you
and our three contestants see if you can figure out who wrote them.
During tidbit time, we brought our studio audience in here,
and let me tell you, folks, you have been as quiet as a mouse,
and I'm talking about a church mouse.
And we've got our contestants over there in the isolation booth.
That's where they used to put the trap set
before the digital drum machines came along.
And that's Lester, Doreen, and Sue.
And I should probably tell our radio listeners that Sue is a boy.
Lester, Doreen, and Sue, give us a wave there so we know you can hear us.
All right. Here's how it works, folks.
While we're listening to each march, our contestants will write down
the name of the composer who they think wrote it,
and at the end of the march, I will turn their sound off
and tell you in the studio audience and our radio listeners
who the composer was, and then we'll ask Lester, Doreen, and Sue
to hold up their pieces of paper.
Okay, everybody. Ready?
I thought so.
Here we go with march number one.
♪♪♪
The answer is Beethoven.
Okay, contestants.
Lester, let's see what you wrote.
No, it is not Palestrina.
Sorry, Lester.
Doreen?
All right, Ludwig van Beethoven.
That is absolutely correct.
Congratulations, Doreen.
And Sue?
Also Palestrina.
Too bad.
Yes, that was a march in C major, folks,
one of the many pieces that Beethoven wrote
for Austrian regimental bands.
And that was Hans Priembergrat conducting
wind players from the Berlin Philharmonic.
And so, Doreen has one point,
which means that she has earned one frequent
flyer mile on Spruce Goose Airlines,
which operates the world's only wooden seaplane
and provides the only direct link between Malibu and Santa Monica.
We may not get in the air, but we'll get you there.
Okay, everybody, here we go with march number two.
Watch out, this is a tricky one.
In fact, it's worth two points.
¶¶
All right, we are ready for round two.
Lester, what do you have?
Richard Wagner.
Wait a minute, folks.
Wait a minute.
Hold on.
Just a second, everybody.
Okay.
I hate to be a wet blanket here,
but I said that this was a tricky one.
That march was by Wagner, all right,
but not Richard Wagner.
Sorry about that, Lester.
That march is called, and I kid you not, folks,
Die Bosniaken kommen,
which means here come the Bosnians,
and it was written by E. Wagner, whoever that is.
That's all it says on the CD, E. Wagner.
I've looked him or her up in every music dictionary
I could find around the station,
Groves, Baker, Slonimski,
and there is no listing for an E. Wagner who wrote music.
But I'll tell you what, Lester,
I said that that was a two-pointer.
I'll give you one point for getting the last name right, okay?
Okay, now, Doreen, what's on your piece of paper?
E. Wagner!
Doreen!
You are cooking with gas here.
I've got to say, Doreen, that is just about incredible.
Doreen, I notice that your pen isn't up there
on the top of your podium where it's supposed to be.
I guess you forgot to put it up there, huh?
Well, I'm in no mood to quibble,
although Lester looks as if he might be harboring a quibble or two.
Hey, it's only a game, Lester.
But, okay, it's two more points for Doreen and Sue.
Sue, you are one loyal Palestrina fan.
All right, Lester's got one point, Doreen has got three,
and Sue is doing his best to keep Palestrina's name
from slipping into the mists of oblivion.
It's a secular, secular, secular, secular world, right, Sue?
And somebody's got to keep the faith.
That was the noted bandmaster Herbert von Karajan
and the Berlin Phils again.
We are halfway through, folks, and here's March No. 3.
No more tricks like E. Wagner, contestants,
but this is a hard one to guess, so let's make it another two-pointer.
Take it away, maestro.
BAND PLAYS MARCH NO. 3
The name of the composer is Barber.
OK, hey, that was a pretty funny ending there, wasn't it?
Well, Lester, who'd you put your money on?
Samuel Barber. That is absolutely correct.
What, did you play the commando march in high school or something?
Yeah, I thought so, because it would be pretty hard to guess.
But let's see what else we've got here.
Doreen? Edward Elgar. No, but a good guess.
He certainly crossed my mind.
And how about you, Sue?
Johann Sebastian Bach. Well, you're getting warmer, Sue, so hang in there.
And let's see, that was a two-pointer, so the score is now Lester 3, Doreen 3, and Sue.
By the way, that was Frederick Fennell and the Cleveland Symphonic Winds.
All righty then, here comes the last march.
And as usual, the last one is from the bonus bin.
That means we give four points for the correct composer, plus two points for the title of the march.
This is the marching moment of truth, folks.
And here's Joplin!
Just kidding, folks! It's not Joplin, and I'll give you another hint.
It's not Palestrina, either.
Okay, here we go!
Here we go!
The name of the composer is Shostakovich.
And the title is March of the Soviet Police.
Okay, this is it, contestants.
As they say at the end of Hamlet, the die is cast and the cast has died.
What do you say, Lester?
The College of Cardinals' Quick Step by Palestrina.
You weren't listening, Lester. I said it wasn't Palestrina.
I'm afraid you threw that one away.
Okay, Doreen, John Philip Sousa, March of the Soviet Police.
Well, you got the title right, Doreen, but not the composer.
So that makes it three for Lester and five for Doreen.
And now it's up to you, Sue.
Dmitry Shostakovich, March of the Soviet Police!
Amazing, Sue! Fantastic!
A boy named Sue, how do you do?
I don't know how much you did it.
And that gives you six points, which means that you are the winner of today's show.
What a comeback! What a spectacular reversal!
And that means that you now have six frequent flyer points on Spruce Goose Airlines,
plus not one, but two genuine 100% polyester tea cozies
courtesy of Evelyn Tree and her husband, Crab,
who run the KK2, as the locals call it, the quaint cottage at Cranberry Cove.
Remember their motto, there's not much in this store you'd want to buy, but it sure smells good.
And that's a wrap, folks. Thanks for joining us,
and thank you, Lester, Doreen and Sue, for playing...
Who Wrote That Thing?
Transportation has been provided by the Wells Fargo Stage Company,
serving America since it was knee-high to a grasshopper,
and by Tortoise Travel, better late than never.
Hotel accommodations have been generously donated by the Mirror, Mirror on the Ceiling Motel.
What we don't know won't hurt us.
And by the Topsy-Turvy Motor Inn. Remember, there's always room at the top.
Join us again next time for...
Who Wrote That Thing?
Okay, by the way, you know the host of Who Wrote That Thing?
moonlights on another show.
His name's Peter Shickley, and the show is Shickley Mix,
from PRI, Public Radio International.
You know, I was thinking about that last march, the March of the Soviet Police.
That title sounds so foreboding.
And I think it's not only because of what we know about the Soviet police
in the middle of the 20th century, when that Shostakovich march was written,
but also because it's so foreign to modern American culture,
the idea of a police department or agency commissioning a march
from the foremost composer in the country.
I mean, can you imagine Philip Glass or Elliott Carter
being asked to write something called
The March of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms?
Anyway, today's program is called
From the Marching Field to the Concert Hall in Two Quick and Easy Steps.
Or should it be in Two Easy and Quick Steps?
I'm trying to get that quick step thing in here, you know?
But hey, we got to keep moving here, so I'm going to let it ride.
Listen, call the show anything you want.
Okay, we've heard a bunch of marches by symphonic composers.
Let's turn the tables here.
Here's a pair of numbers.
The first, another march for band by a predominantly symphonic composer.
And the second, an orchestral piece by a composer
known primarily for his work with bands.
Here is the sound of two composers crossing the street.
See you in about six minutes.
♪
Two composers crossing the street there.
First we heard a March for Military Band,
Op. 99 by Prokofiev,
and that was performed by the Stockholm Concert Band
under the direction of Gennady Rodzitsvinsky.
It's probably as close as I can get.
And if you know any of Prokofiev's music,
you'll see why I didn't include that on our contest show today,
because you definitely could pretty easily spot that
because of the funny little modulations
between different keys he does in the middle of a melody.
And then the second number was the prelude
to the comic opera El Capitan by John Philip Sousa.
That was Eric Kunzel conducting the Cincinnati Pops Orchestra.
And of course at the end of that prelude
you do hear a very familiar tune
because Sousa took that march out of the opera
into one of his most beloved marches.
Hey, we've got time for another tidbit here, folks.
So, you know, on another edition of this program
I mention that marches have come quite close
to various dances throughout their history.
Some of the Sousa marches, for instance,
were very popular as dances
because the characteristics of marches were so close
to certain dances like the cakewalk and the two-step.
But it's not very often that you find
the march and the minuet coming together as you do here.
One, two, three, one, two, three.
That was the Minuet Militaire,
Sicily No. 1A, by P.D.Q. Bach.
And that was the Greater Hoople Area
off-season Philharmonic, conducted by Walter Bruno.
You classical music buffs know that that name,
Walter Bruno, has got to be a nom de tape there.
And it is true that the conductor was actually
a well-known conductor who, for contractual reasons,
couldn't use his real name there.
But, you know, it's been several years
since this album came out.
I think that I can probably say who it was.
The actual name of the...
Oh, hold on just a second, folks.
Hello? Oh, hello.
Oh, no, certainly.
I don't want to give the name
if you feel strongly about it.
You know, I thought it wouldn't matter anymore.
No, no. No, that's perfectly fine, Mr. Walter.
That's fine. Okay, thanks for calling. Bye.
Well, I tell you what, that's about it, folks.
But before we march out of here,
let me lay a little factoid on you.
Did you know that John Philip Sousa,
in addition to writing marches and operettas,
wrote novels?
marches on the march
And that's Sickly Mix for this week.
The march at the beginning of the show
was Jip the Blood, or Hurst, Witches Worst,
by Charles Ives,
played by the Ensemble Moderne
under Ingo Metzmacher.
Right now, we're hearing Entrance of the Gladiators,
or Thunder and Blazes, by Fuchic,
played by the Gürzenich Bassoon Quintet.
Our program is made possible with funds
provided by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting
and by the National Endowment for the Arts,
with additional support from the National Academy
of Recording Arts and Sciences,
and from 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 138.
And this is Peter Sicily 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 Sicily Mix.
That's S-C-H-I-C-K-E-L-E, Sicily Mix.
Care of Public Radio International,
100 North 6th Street, Suite 900A,
Minneapolis, Minnesota, 55403.
PRI, Public Radio International.