HUMBUG! It’s the last Friday the 13th before Christmas.
This week on “Picture Perfect,” it’s an Ebenezer Scrooge mixtape, with music from film adaptations of the writings of Charles Dickens.
Tune in for selections from “Nicholas Nickleby” (1947) by Lord Berners, “Oliver Twist” (1948) by Sir Arnold Bax, “David Copperfield” (1969) by Sir Malcolm Arnold, and “A Christmas Carol” (1951) by Richard Addinsell.
If I had my way, every fool who goes around with “Merry Christmas” on his lips should be boiled in his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly in his heart!
Blame it on an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There will be more of gravy than of the grave about it. Take your pick of Dickens, on “Picture Perfect,” music for the movies, now in syndication on KWAX, the radio station of the University of Oregon!
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 – ALL NEW! – 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
Even those who don’t enjoy his music will surely appreciate the irony that Arnold Schoenberg, whose twelve-tone method of composition continues to strike fear in the hearts of many, himself dreaded the number 13.
Not only did his triskaidekaphobia likely hasten his demise – the superstitious Schoenberg died on Friday, July 13, 1951, at the age of 76 (he had been out of sorts all year, as his astrologer had alerted him that 7 + 6 = 13) – the irony is compounded, as today the world marks the sesquicentennial of his birth, on yet another Friday the 13th.
Winston Churchill’s assessment of Russia in 1939 could just as easily have been applied to this most influential composer of the 20th century. Schoenberg was a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma – a man cloaked in irony and contradiction.
For one thing, his very name, “Schoenberg,” translates as “beautiful mountain,” yet those who would characterize his music as such are distinctly in the minority.
He was the greatest prophet of dodecaphonic music, yet he claimed an artistic kinship with Johannes Brahms.
He preached the death of tonality, even as he orchestrated his share of Viennese operettas and arranged Strauss waltzes for performance by his friends.
He was a Jew, who converted to Lutheranism, but swung back hard to Judaism, in defiance of Hitler.
He was probably the least “popular” composer in the world, but his tennis partner was none other than George Gershwin. The two also shared a love of painting.
Adding to this beautiful mountain of contradictions, Schoenberg, like that other titan of 20th century music, Igor Stravinsky, wound up living in Hollywood.
Both men were suspicious of the movies (and each other), yet both were hoping to break into films. Stravinsky wrote cues for “The Song of Bernadette,” “Jane Eyre,” and “The North Star” (the latter ultimately scored by Copland). None of his music was used in the pictures – Stravinsky was too slow and demanded too much money – but some of it was recycled in his concert works.
Likewise, Schoenberg was courted for a film adaptation of “The Good Earth,” but his proposed $50,000 fee put an end to that.
Twelve-tone music did eventually make it into the movies, thanks to composers like Leonard Rosenman and David Raksin. Rosenman’s landmark score for “The Cobweb” (1955) is credited as the first predominantly twelve-tone score written for a motion picture. Raksin, the composer of “Laura,” also employed a tone row in the Edgar Allan Poe mystery, “The Man with a Cloak” (1951).
Interestingly, Schoenberg, the creator of “Pierrot Lunaire” and “Moses und Aaron,” was also a great fan of Hopalong Cassidy. Like Walt Whitman, an admittedly strange comparison, Schoenberg contained multitudes.
13 cheers for Arnold Schoenberg on the sesquicentennial of his birth!
“Variations for Orchestra,” conducted by Bruno Maderna
“Pierrot Lunaire”
With goats!
A kinder, gentler Schoenberg – the Suite for String Orchestra, given its premiere in Los Angeles in 1935:
Schoenberg in home movies – on the tennis court, naturally – with Gershwin and others. (Gershwin appears around 2:20.)
Still think Schoenberg’s not your bag? Put aside your trepidation and join me for an hour of his lighter music on “Sweetness and Light,” this Saturday morning at 11:00 EDT/8:00 PDT, on KWAX. Stream it wherever you are at the link!
Suffering from triskaidekaphobia? On this Friday the 13th, here are just a few composers who were afflicted with extraordinarily bad luck.
Jean-Baptiste Lully, also an accomplished dancer, injured his toe while pounding the floor with a heavy stick to mark time; the resultant infection killed him.
Anton Webern violated curfew when he snuck out on his porch for a smoke and was shot by an American soldier.
Ernest Chausson lost control of his bicycle and fatally slammed into a brick wall.
Fire tore through Geirr Tveitt’s cabin and destroyed four-fifths of his compositional output, driving him to alcoholism.
Friedrich Kuhlau blinded himself when he fell on a bottle at the age of seven; later, he died of complications after being left out in the cold all night as his house burned to the ground.
Charles-Valentin Alkan was reaching for a copy of the Talmud, located on a high shelf, when his bookcase toppled, crushing him.
Henry Purcell developed pneumonia after his wife locked him out of the house for coming home late after one too many pub crawls.
Alexander Scriabin died of a septic carbuncle.
Tchaikovsky drank cholera-contaminated water.
Jean-Marie Leclair was found murdered in his room.
Alessandro Stradella was set upon by unidentified assassins.
None of these misfortunes occurred on Friday the 13th.
On the other hand, Arnold Schoenberg, a notorious triskaidekaphobe, died on his 76th birthday, Friday the 13th, 1951. Earlier in the day, he had been informed by his astrologer that 7 plus 6 equals… 13.
Paraskevidekatriaphobia – derived from the Greek words “paraskevi” (Friday) and “dekatria” (thirteen), with “-phobia” appended as a suffix to indicate “fear,” was coined in the early ‘90s by American psychotherapist Dr. Donald E. Dossey. He wryly remarked that when you’re able to pronounce the word, you’re cured.
In the meantime, don’t open any umbrellas indoors and try not to walk under any ladders. I’ll check in to see how your day went tomorrow.
Friday the 13th! Beware of ladders, broken mirrors, and… black cats?
Unluckily, this week on “Picture Perfect, the focus will be on metaphorical big cats.
Simone Simon’s barely repressed desires are made manifest in Val Lewton’s “Cat People” (1942). Lewton was a master of suggestion, with a majority of the horrors in his films imagined, rather than seen. Part of the approach was practical, the result of shoestring budgets imposed by RKO. Whatever the case, the insinuating weirdness undeniably produced psychological chills. In fact, it was only as a concession to the studio that a literal big cat was included at all. The music was by RKO workhorse Roy Webb.
Sean Connery plays a Berber chieftain who faces off against Teddy Roosevelt in “The Wind and the Lion” (1975). In a letter to Roosevelt (played in the film by Brian Keith), Connery’s character writes, “I, like the lion, must stay in my place, while you, like the wind, will never know yours.” Jerry Goldsmith provided one of his best scores for the Moroccan adventure. In fact, he was fairly confident he finally had a lock on the Oscar. He experienced a harsh reality check when he went to see “Jaws.” (Goldsmith would win his only Academy Award the following year for his music to “The Omen.”)
Luchino Visconti’s epic telling of Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa’s “The Leopard” (1963) is a melancholy exploration of the fading Sicilian aristocracy. A bewhiskered Burt Lancaster plays Prince Fabrizio, who feels himself slipping into obsolescence. Nino Rota gives the film a full-blooded, operatic soundtrack, full of lyricism and pathos.
Finally, Lyn Murray provides the breezy accompaniment for Alfred Hitchcock’s “To Catch a Thief” (1955), with Cary Grant a reformed burglar, known as The Cat, who attempts to clear himself of some “copycat” crimes while romancing Grace Kelly on the French Riviera.
We throw salt over our left shoulder and caution to the winds, with an hour of music for metaphorical big cats, on “Picture Perfect,” this Friday the 13th at 6 p.m. EDT, on WWFM – The Classical Network and wwfm.org.
Suffering from triskaidekaphobia? Join me on this Friday the 13th for music by composers who were afflicted with extraordinary bad luck.
Jean-Baptiste Lully, also an accomplished dancer, injured his toe while pounding the floor with a heavy stick to mark time; the resultant infection killed him. Anton Webern violated curfew when he snuck out on his porch for a smoke and was shot by an American soldier. Ernest Chausson lost control of his bicycle and fatally slammed into a brick wall. Fire tore through Geirr Tveitt’s cabin and destroyed four-fifths of his compositional output, driving him to alcoholism. Friedrich Kuhlau blinded himself when he fell on a bottle at the age of seven; later, he died of complications after being left out in the cold all night as his house burned to the ground. Charles-Valentin Alkan was reaching for a copy of the Talmud, located on a high shelf, when the bookcase toppled, crushing him. Henry Purcell developed pneumonia after his wife locked him out of the house for coming home late after one too many pub crawls. Alexander Scriabin died of a septic carbuncle. Tchaikovsky drank cholera-contaminated water. Jean-Marie Leclair was found murdered in his room. Alessandro Stradella was set upon by unidentified assassins.
None of these misfortunes occurred on Friday the 13th. Toss some salt over your shoulder and sit back and enjoy, this Friday from 4 to 6 p.m. EDT, on WWFM – The Classical Network and wwfm.org. And then stick around for a good luck charm forged by wizards and sorcerers on “Picture Perfect,” music for the movies, at 6.
BONUS! Read about Giuseppe Verdi and the Evil Eye:
