Before “Harry Potter.” Before “Jurassic Park.” Before “E.T.” Before “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” Before “Superman.” Before “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” Before “Star Wars.” Before “Jaws.” Before even John Williams… there was Johnny Williams.
Well before Williams became America’s most famous living composer, he was busy honing his craft as an orchestrator, an arranger, a session pianist, and a composer in the bush league of television. This week on “Picture Perfect,” we’ll hear some of “Johnny” Williams’ music for “Lost in Space.”
Also on the program will be selections from “The Alfred Hitchcock Hour” by Bernard Herrmann, the theme from “Wagon Train” by Jerome Moross, and a medley of well-known television music by Jerry Goldsmith.
Don’t touch that dial! Movie composers think inside the box, on “Picture Perfect,” music for the movies (and television), now in syndication on KWAX Classical Oregon!
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Clip and save the start times for all three of my recorded shows:
PICTURE PERFECT, the movie music show – Friday at 8:00 PM EST/5:00 PM PST
SWEETNESS AND LIGHT, the light music program – Saturday at 11:00 AM EST/8:00 AM PST
THE LOST CHORD, unusual and neglected rep – Saturday at 7:00 PM EST/4:00 PM PST
Stream them, wherever you are, at the link!
https://kwax.uoregon.edu
Category: Daily Dispatch
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Life of (Havergal) Brian
According to the Guinness Book of World Records, Havergal Brian’s Symphony No. 1, the “Gothic Symphony,” composed between 1919 and 1927, is the longest symphony ever written.
It’s certainly one of the largest, requiring multiple choirs and orchestras. The work calls for vocal soloists, two double choruses, brass bands, and a much-enlarged symphony orchestra, including 32 woodwinds, 24 brass, two timpani, assorted other percussion (requiring 17 players), celesta, two harps, organ, and a greatly expanded string section. In addition, two horns, two trumpets, two tubas, and one set of timpani combine in each of the four brass bands – a total of nearly 200 players. And that’s before factoring in the singers!
The composer had to paste multiple sheets together in the writing of the piece in order to accommodate its titanic demands. Brian dedicated the work to Richard Strauss, who declared it magnificent.
A contemporary of Ralph Vaughan Williams and Gustav Holst, Brian dropped out of school at the age of 12 and went to work in a coal mine. He also worked for timber firms and as a carpenter’s apprentice, the whole while nursing a secret desire to write music.
Though attracting early admiration from the likes of Sir Edward Elgar, Sir Thomas Beecham, and Sir Donald Francis Tovey, Brian was destined always to be a cult figure. But there were and are enough people out there who believe strongly enough in his music that most of his major works have been recorded.
Among them are 32 symphonies – 20 of them composed after the age of 80 and the last at the age of 93. Brian died in 1972, the result of a fall, two months shy of his 97th birthday.
The “Gothic” falls into two parts, subdivided into three movements each. Part One was inspired by Goethe’s “Faust,” and Part Two is a gargantuan setting of the “Te Deum” – combined they present a symphonic vision of the Gothic Age, a period of incalculable expansion in human knowledge. The music in Part Two is essentially modeled on Gothic architecture. It’s literally Brian’s conception of a cathedral in sound.
Have a couple of hours to spare? Check out Havergal Brian’s “Gothic Symphony,” on this, the 150th anniversary of the composer’s birth.——–
IMAGE: “Medieval City on a River” (1815), by Karl Friedrich Schinkel -
Belated Goodbyes
There’s been so much to occupy my attention these past weeks that I’ve neglected to pay tribute to three artists who enriched my life for decades through their recordings. In yet another attempt to avoid posting about the slow-motion collapse of the flabbergastingly politicized Kennedy Center (most recently given the eff you by Philip Glass), I thought now might be a good opportunity to remember them.
The Virginia-born Isaiah Jackson died on Christmas Eve at the age of 80. Jackson held music directorships with London’s Royal Ballet and Boston’s Pro Arte Chamber Orchestra. As a child of two, he fell on a milk bottle, severing the tendons in his wrist. His father, an orthopedic surgeon, prescribed music lessons as therapy, which he began at the age of 4. Jackson studied Russian history and literature at Harvard, from which he graduated cum laude. While there, he conducted Mozart’s “Cosi fan tutte,” an experience that decided him, once and for all, on a career in music. He pursued further studies at Stanford and Juilliard. In between, he was a pupil of the celebrated pedagogue Nadia Boulanger.
Among Jackson’s other, numerous posts, he was assistant to Leopold Stokowski at the American Symphony Orchestra, associate conductor of the Baltimore Symphony and Rochester Philharmonic Orchestras, and music director of the Flint Symphony and Dayton Philharmonic Orchestras. He was a respected teacher, who served on the faculty of Berklee College of Music, and guest conducted, among others, the New York Philharmonic, the Cleveland Orchestra, the Detroit Symphony Orchestra, the Los Angeles Philharmonic, the San Francisco Symphony, the Boston Pops, the Toronto Symphony, the Helsinki Philharmonic, and L’Orchestre de la Suisse Romande. Hearing loss caused him to retire from the podium in 2006.
Three recordings of his of which I am especially fond are those of “Danzas de Panama” by William Grant Still, from an album devoted to the composer’s works; the Sinfonietta for String Orchestra and Timpani by Franz Waxman, better known for his film scores; and the Harp Concerto of Welsh composer William Mathias, with Ann Hobson Pilot the soloist, my preferred recording of the piece, which is a gem. All three of them were released on the Koch International Classics label.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MiHN4lXshrA
John Wallace died on January 11 at the age of 76. Wallace was principal trumpet of the Philharmonia Orchestra from 1976 to 1995 and later served as principal of the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland. As a soloist, he introduced new works by Malcolm Arnold, Peter Maxwell Davies, Gunther Schuller, and James MacMillan. But perhaps he achieved his greatest fame through a series of recordings he made with the ensemble he founded, the Wallace Collection, which aired frequently during the good old days on classical radio. Of course, it didn’t detract from his celebrity that Wallace also played at the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana. Here’s a Concerto for 7 Trumpets by Johann Ernst Altenburg.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ed2Ctagmzxw
Finally, the Japanese guitarist and prolific recording artist Kazuhito Yamashita died on January 25 at the age of 64. Yamashita was an early competition winner who achieved international recognition and performed with top artists, including James Galway, Michala Petri, and the Tokyo String Quartet. Quixotically, he chose to transcribe some of the most brilliantly orchestrated works in the repertoire, including Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Scheherazade” and Stravinsky’s “The Firebird,” for his instrument. He also gave first performances of over 60 new compositions. I owe Yamashita a great debt for introducing me, through this RCA release conducted by Leonard Slatkin, to Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s heartwarming guitar concertos. The slow movements are gorgeous. That for the First begins at 5:40 at the link.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Y0cxGjGG4A
Thank you, gentlemen, and godspeed. -
Bergman’s Enchanting “The Magic Flute”
From time to time, I guess even Ingmar Bergman needed a break from existential dread. How else to explain his delightful adaptation of “The Magic Flute?” Originally intended for television, Bergman’s playful and inventive 1975 film of Mozart’s 1791 singspiel had a lot to do with setting me on the path to become an opera lover.
The conceit, to set the action as a live performance in the historic Drottningholm Palace Theater (a reproduction, since there were concerns about the actual theater safely accommodating a film crew), is disarming and inspired. All the stagecraft is laid bare. The scenery is evidently painted plywood, the animals are all people in suits, and the characters pause from time to time to hold up little signs with moralistic aphorisms on them as they sing their arias.
Bergman’s film begins outside the actual theater and then enters the hall during the overture to register the facial expressions of a audience members as they anticipate the curtain rising. Most especially the camera lingers on the eager face of an impressionable young girl. It’s evident that the director would like us to experience it all from her perspective, through a lens of innocence.
By contrast, we’re also taken backstage, to glimpse Papageno, fallen asleep and nearly missing a cue, Sarastro between acts studying the score to “Parsifal,” and one of Monostatos’ minions reading a Donald Duck comic book.
Sure, there are moments of despair even here, as a couple of the characters contemplate suicide (we also get a memorable vision of hellfire), but it’s all dispelled in a decisive victory of good over evil, an endorsement of universal brotherhood, and a resolution of unalloyed joy.
It was Mozart’s librettist, Emanuel Schikaneder, who suggested during rehearsals that Papageno stammer in excitement at the recognition of his desired Papagena, in their famous duet. Here’s what Bergman does with it.On Mozart’s birthday anniversary, I think it’s time to revisit this film.
Behold! Here it is on YouTube.
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Farewell, Uncle Floyd
When somebody like Uncle Floyd goes, it really stirs up memories of a certain era of my life.
If you don’t know, Uncle Floyd – born Floyd Vivino – was a homegrown, under-the-radar Jersey icon. If that seems paradoxical, you have to understand, for decades he hosted a comedy-variety show that drifted around UHF and local cable outlets in Philadelphia and New Jersey. The budget for each episode must have been about $1.98 – it had all the visual allure of public-access – so I was surprised to learn the show was eventually picked up for “national” syndication, gaining further exposure in Chicago, Boston, and Hartford. I’d always assumed Floyd was as inextricably part of regional lore as the Philadelphia Mummers. Tastykake, and Taylor Ham.
When you turned on “The Uncle Floyd Show,” you knew you were in for a half hour of burlesque, under-rehearsed (if at all) sketch comedy, in-jokes at the expense of cast and crew (he got a lot of mileage out of Scott Gordon’s weight and Netto having gone to jail), their colleagues invariably busting up off-camera (often funnier than the show). It was also a showcase for Floyd’s nimble fingers, which played across the keyboard of a jangly upright with all the dexterity of Chico Marx.
Presented in the style of a kids show, it had a touch of Soupy Sales (Floyd was always interacting with puppets and slipping in jokes only adults would get). It was also a living museum of a bygone era, of vaudeville, the burlesque house, and the golden age of novelty songs. There were plenty of groaners among the jokes. A lot of the gags had whiskers. But I always say there are two kinds of comedy: the kind that delights because the pay-off is totally unexpected, and the kind where you see the punchline coming from miles away, but the delivery sticks its landing so well you can’t help but laugh. “The Uncle Floyd Show” was a showcase for the latter.
Floyd was a cult figure who somehow attracted fans like John Lennon and David Bowie, who both tuned in from New York. Also, like David Letterman in his early days on “Late Night,” he would introduce acts on the show that you would swear were put-ons, only to discover after not too long that their careers would explode. I remember seeing Cyndi Lauper on there for the first time, and I thought there’s no way she’s real. Is she?
Occasionally, he would have on a top act, and you’d wonder how the hell did Floyd get Blue Öyster Cult? Then he would gently razz them by cutting to a photo of one of their early gigs, playing a bar mitzvah in Long Island.
Everyone was a pretty good sport, except Joe Franklin, another low-rent cult media icon. If you lived beyond the New York broadcast area, back in the day, you probably have no idea who I’m talking about. Franklin interviewed faded movie stars and other people in the entertainment industry, notably up-and-coming actors who hadn’t quite hit. It was another entertaining show, but also very cheap and very, very quirky. Franklin was offended when Floyd appeared on-camera as Joe Frankfurter, with a garbage can over his head and talking over his guests. Franklin, notoriously thin-skinned, sued him for libel to the tune of $35 million dollars. Naturally, the suit went nowhere.
There was also a recurring sketch featuring “The Dull Family” of Easton, PA (my hometown, but I didn’t sue).
On weeknights, after dinner, my stepfather, my best friend, and I would often retire to the living room to enjoy the half-hour show. You never knew what kind of double-entendre was going to sail out of the tube. Often the material and/or execution was so lame, it was hilarious, and everyone involved was in on the joke. Floyd himself, however, was a consummate performer, with innate timing, and a virtuoso of his kind.
A staple of every show was a send-up of a ventriloquism act, in which Floyd would engage in some repartee with a puppet sidekick – only the camera would never show Floyd’s lips when the puppet spoke. The best known of these was Oogie, a diminutive clown with Larry Fine hair protruding from beneath a paddy cap, and a London Fog coat. Also Bones Boy, a skeleton who randomly exclaimed, “Snap it!” And Hugo, who was, well, a Hugo doll. (Look it up.)
What Floyd didn’t have was fashion sense – a blind spot he cultivated – and he proudly showed up at his gigs in trademark hat, bow tie, and jacket, all with clashing patterns.
I was surprised to see him break into bit parts in the movies, credited under his birth name. He’s quite visible throughout “Good Morning, Vietnam.” He also had other parts on mainstream television, appearing on “Law & Order,” “Cosby,” and others.
In the early spring of 2020, I learned that Floyd was scheduled to appear at an Italian-American event being held at a restaurant a half-mile from my parents’ house – the very house at which we had viewed so many episodes of the show. How could I not go? So I made the trip home to catch Floyd’s act, again in the company of my stepfather and my best friend. It’s hard to believe, the better part of 40 years had passed.
Floyd came out and entertained the crowd with well-timed jokes that all stuck their landings. He also had a keyboard with him so that he could share the kind of music he had championed his entire career. Yes, he had the hat and the jacket and a bow tie (black, because of the solemn occasion?).
We went back and talked to him after the set. He seemed fairly low-key, but he warmed considerably as it became obvious that we really remembered so much about the show and knew so many of the songs. My friend had his ukulele with him to illustrate. We got a couple of pictures taken, and he gave us an autograph. Floyd seemed genuine, but I could tell he was tired at the end of a gig. His eyes wandered around the room as he waited for his paycheck. When the bearer appeared, he excused himself, saying he had to get back to Jersey.
My friend and I were already in the car when we saw Floyd exit the building. I rolled down the windows, and my friend began singing and playing “Deep in the Heart of Jersey” as we pulled away like a couple of crazy kids, now in their 50s. I could see Floyd was genuinely amused.
Afterward, on my way back to Princeton, I was heading down Route 31, when I stopped at a light in Flemington. As I waited, I noticed an electronic bulletin board outside the Elks Lodge, advertising who should be scheduled to appear the next week, but Uncle Floyd! I thought how amusing it would be if my friend and I arranged to be there, so soon after the Easton appearance.
We probably wouldn’t have followed through on it (my friend, who doesn’t drive, would have had to come up from Philadelphia), but in the event, the show was cancelled anyway, as Floyd’s visit to Easton would be the last live entertainment any of us would experience for well over a year. The next week, the Elks Lodge and everything else was shut down as COVID-19 swept New Jersey.
“The Uncle Floyd Show” ran from 1974 to 2001. After the show went off the air, Floyd continued to appear solo and in comedy revues around the area. He also took his schtick to radio.
Floyd was 74 years-old at the time of his death on January 22. He made countless people smile and forget their troubles. It was a life better spent than perhaps he ever knew.
R.I.P.
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Uncle Floyd as Julia Step-Child
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=af-QDOPNNkE
An entire Oogie bit built around in-jokes about staffers Mugsy and Scott Gordon
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qjx_n2VB0kYFloyd tickling the ivories
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4nnnnzfJ0P8
“Josephina Please No Leana on the Bell”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ki6q6bTaZR4
Floyd, before an appreciative crowd at the Capitol Theatre of Passaic, performing “Deep in the Heart of Jersey”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mm8ZOQkzyFc&t
Floyd entered the Guinness Book of World Records in 1999 after playing the piano for 24 hours and 15 minutes, to raise money for a local family to cover medical bills for their son with cystic fibrosis.
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