I’ve written a great deal about George Antheil, Trenton-born “Bad Boy of Music” (which also happens to be the title of his autobiography) – his early notoriety, riots erupting in Europe over the brutality of his machine music (he used to brandish a pistol before launching into his recitals), most famously the “Ballet Mécanique,” with its battery of player pianos, sirens, doorbells, and airplane propellers; his writings on a wide variety of topics (murder mysteries, endocrinology, war correspondence, advice to the lovelorn); his Hollywood film scores; his symphonies in the grand manner of the Greatest Generation of American composers, championed by Leopold Stokowski and others; his friendship with Hedy Lamarr and their experiments with torpedo-jamming technology in the hopes of aiding the Allied war effort.
There are so many stories to tell about George Antheil. What didn’t he do? Who didn’t he know?
Well, today I’m going to turn it over to Jean Shepherd. In case the name doesn’t ring a bell, Shepherd was the storyteller, humorist, writer, and radio personality who spun gold from the experiences and eccentricities of his boyhood in blue-collar Indiana, which he harvested to notable comic effect. These provided seemingly inexhaustible grist for his radio broadcasts, books, movies, and television specials. Shep was a virtuoso at making the personal universal. His blend of comic observation and nostalgia invariably entertained.
For those too young to have caught his radio show, Shep’s spirit lives on in annual marathons of the modern classic “A Christmas Story” (1983), with its knowing reminiscences of the aspirations and terrors of childhood. References to Red Ryder BB guns and “fra-gee-lee” leg lamps are now part of the American holiday experience.
Well, Shep happened to be a huge Antheil fan, sometimes incorporating the composer’s music into his radio broadcasts. You can hear Shep’s account of how he met Antheil at the automat, in this show from 1976.
As is often the case with Shep, the journey is the destination. He likes to digress and take in the scenery, so depending on how you calculate, he finally arrives at Antheil somewhere between 12 and 15 minutes in. However, the preamble, about Dadaism and Paris in the 1920s, is certainly relevant. He doesn’t get all the details correct (there are no anvils or sledgehammers in “Ballet Mécanique”), but he’s got the spirit right and it’s still colorfully told. Shep’s not one to let facts get in the way of a good story!
More concise, at 7 minutes, is Shep’s eulogy to Antheil on another show, following the composer’s death. If you can only listen to one, make it this one.
Happy birthday, George Antheil, and thank you, Jean Shepherd – two American originals!
“Ballet Mécanique” was revised for performance by more manageable forces in 1953, but that version fails to capture the inexorable machine madness of the 1924 original, here recreated with the assistance of digital technology (MIDI, Yamaha Dysklaviers, computers, etc.) and the percussive digits of six live pianists (as opposed to just pianolas).
