The only composer crankier than Carl Ruggles was probably Bernard Herrmann. Everyone recognizes Herrmann as the genius film composer he was, but whenever he was in front of an orchestra, he made it his mission to champion works by neglected composers.

Ruggles, the cantankerous American modernist, was the creator of a handful of meticulously-crafted, uncompromising works. His complete, authorized output can be accommodated on two LPs. We know this, because Michael Tilson Thomas recorded just about everything for the Columbia Masterworks label in 1980.

Ruggles’ method was described by musicologist Charles Seeger as “dissonant counterpoint,” a system wherein all the traditional rules of counterpoint are reversed, so that dissonance, rather than consonance, is the norm. The very practice smacks of contrarianism!

Not surprisingly, Ruggles was beloved by Charles Ives. When someone had the audacity to boo one of Ruggles’ works at a concert given in 1931, Ives berated the critic as a sissy: “Why can’t you stand up before fine, strong music like this, and use your ears like a man?!”

Ruggles also created hundreds of paintings. In contrast to the agonizing process of composition, his paintings were usually tossed off in an afternoon. They were deemed good enough that he was invited to hang shows and even sold many of his canvases.

Ruggles died in 1971, about three months after this Herrmann interview was broadcast. He was 95 years-old.

Herrmann got his start in the medium of radio in 1934, when he was hired as a conducting assistant at CBS. It wasn’t long before he was providing original music and serving as musical director of its resident orchestra. Among his duties there was providing incidental music for Orson Welles’ Mercury Theatre broadcasts. In fact, he was in front of the orchestra for possibly radio’s most notorious hour, Welles’ hysteria-inducing adaptation of “The War of the Worlds.”

As would ever be the case, Herrmann did nothing by halves. Then only in his 20s, he possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of both music and literature, and filled his programs with works by Ives, Henry Cowell, Gian Francesco Malipiero, Alexander Gretchaninov, Nikolai Myaskovsky, Hermann Goetz, Joachim Raff, Niels Wilhelm Gade, Richard Arnell, Lord Berners, Edmund Rubbra, and countless others. Even Schoenberg and Webern could be heard over CBS during those years.

Herrmann had known Ives personally since he was in his teens. He had discovered the composer’s “114 Songs” in the New York Public Library and was instrumental in shopping them around, even introducing them to Aaron Copland.

He was also unfailingly outspoken. Once, when CBS president William S. Paley balked at one of his proposals, Herrmann snapped, “You’re assuming the public is as ignorant about music as you are.” That’s just the kind of guy Herrmann was. Totally tactless, but usually right. After that, he was given near-unlimited freedom over musical programming at CBS.

It had always been Herrmann’s ambition to be recognized as a great conductor. Leopold Stokowski was his hero. While he never realized that ambition, it was not for want of trying.

During the conversation at the link above, Herrmann draws an unexpected connection between Ruggles and “Moby Dick.” Herrmann was an enormous admirer of Melville’s magnum opus, setting it as a cantata in 1936-38, also predating his career in film. It was given its debut at Carnegie Hall in 1940, with Sir John Barbirolli conducting the New York Philharmonic. Herrmann dedicated the work to Ives.

So as to leave you with a bit of Herrmann’s film music, here’s one of the composer’s personal favorites, and another piece that breathes the sea air – his score for the 1947 film “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir.”

Happy birthday, Bernard Herrmann. Would it kill you to smile on your special day?