Police officer Don Vegge often performed the offertory at Faith Evangelical Church in Billings, Montana on his musical saw. He is heard here performing “Amazing Grace” and the moving “Through It All” by the late Andraé Crouch from his Lp, The Carpenter’s Saw.
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You may have thought the lowest approval ratings a President has had in America would have been during the Watergate scandal, the Iran-Contra scandal, or perhaps during the financial crisis and bailouts of 2007 shepherded by George W. Bush. In fact, it was in the fall of 1951, when President Harry Truman had an approval rating of about 22%, driven primarily by his decision that April to relieve General Douglas MacArthur of command over United Nations forces in Korea.
MacArthur is a towering figure in 20th century history, having long before the Korean War begun one of the most extraordinary careers in American history by serving with distinction in our occupation of Veracruz in 1914. After this he rose to the rank of Colonel in the First World War, fighting on the western front, and earning more than a half dozen medals for his valor. When he returned to active duty before the Second World War, MacArthur commanded our Pacific forces. Initially forced from the Philippines, MacArthur fulfilled his famous promise (“I shall return”) after two years of fighting. His defense of the Philippines, for which he was awarded the Medal of Honor, was a turning of the tide in the Pacific theater, leading to the leapfrogging strategy which eventually led Allied forces to Japan.
MacArthur’s conduct in the Korean War remains a subject of controversy. Troops criticized him for conducting the war from the safety of Tokyo, and after his dismissal from duty a congressional hearing found he had violated the Constitution by defying the President’s orders.
When he and his wife Jean returned to the United States, it was their first visit since their wedding fourteen years earlier. They travelled cross country to the Capitol where MacArthur address the US Congress to a series of standing ovations.
In retirement, MacArthur accepted West Point’s prestigious Syvanus Thayer Award on May 12, 1962. Visibly frail, the General’s speech is remembered for its frequent refrain, “Duty, honor, country.“
You may wonder how we intend to connect the story of “Dugout Doug” to what is usually a blog about music. It’s this 1969 piece by avant garde composer Robert Erickson. General Speech was commissioned by Stuart Dempster, and is written for solo trombone.
From the liner notes to this LP, Music for Virtuosos 2, by Harvey Sollberger:
Based not merely on a text of General Douglas MacArthur’s but as much on his persona or, one might say, the myth he consciously lived and exemplified, the piece uses speech as a bridge between music and theater. The trombonist is required to merge his playing of precisely notated (and often difficult) musical events with the verbal articulations into the instrument of a phoneticized version of MacArthur’s retirement speech at West Point. Thus the opening “Duty, honor, country” (which functions as a refrain throughout this piece) is articulated as “Doo-tee — yonor — cunt’treeee,” etc.
Robert Erickson was briefly a resident of the Twin Cities, where he studied under Ernest Krenek at Hamline and later taught at St. Catherine’s before moving to the West Coast. He was one of the first American composers to work in Schoenberg’s twelve tone system, but left it behind as his works evolved towards musique concrete. Composers of note who cite Erickson as an influence include Pauline Oliveros, Terry Reilly and Morton Subotnik.
We’re sort of fascinated by General Speech, which we assume was intended as a commentary on the Vietnam War and specifically perhaps on the draft. In personifying the General in the same manner as Charlie Brown’s teacher, Erickson presents the military establishment as disconnected from the people in a mocking tone.
But the choice of MacArthur’s “Duty, Honor, Country” speech strikes us as inconsistent with this interpretation, because shortly before giving his famous farewell at West Point, MacArthur met with President Kennedy at the White House, where he was critical of current military strategy and of Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara. MacArthur advised Kennedy against continuing to build up a military presence in Vietnam.
In fact, MacArthur was somewhat unique among military leaders of his generation in his attitude towards the people of the Far East. His tenure as the effective ruler of Japan, as the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces during the US occupation after World War II, suggests he understood the potential for peace and prosperity to be found in the East. There is a stunning photograph of the General standing next to Emperor Hirohito, a man who many wished to see hanged but who MacArthur actively protected from a war crimes trial.
One can only speculate what MacArthur would have said about the state of our war in Vietnam in 1969, because he had “fade[d] away” (to paraphrase his famous remark) five years earlier. We would like to speculate that Erickson chose MacArthur’s retirement speech because it was well-known to his audience. Had he composed General Speech a year later, perhaps he would have instead chosen General George Patton’s speech to the Third Army, delivered on the day before D-Day. It had become very famous because an abridged version opened the Academy Award-winning film Patton that year.
Contrasting Patton’s speech with MacArthur’s presents a very different perspective of duty, honor and country. If you can recognize it in the trombone solo performed by Stuart Dempster (we certainly cannot), the conclusion of General Douglas MacArthur’s speech at West Point is a painful reminder of the world we have created for ourselves, even fifty years later.
This does not mean that you are war mongers.
On the contrary, the soldier, above all other people, prays for peace, for he must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.
But always in our ears ring the ominous words of Plato, that wisest of all philosophers: “Only the dead have seen the end of war.”
Two more messages of affirmation, following up on the theme of yesterday’s post about Ricky Nelson, each from unique artists you have to dig pretty deep into the crates to find these days.
The first is by Exuma, whose surreal albums transcend the confines of genre, combining carnival with calypso, balladic melodies and a preoccupation with the spirituality and folklore of Obeah. Although he was an underground figure for most of his career, his early albums for major labels appear in the shop from time to time and always brighten our day.
The second is from an equally original source, voice-over artist Ken Nordine. His “Word Jazz” LPs present his bizarre, often Kafka-esque stories in the style of the beat poets. On his early albums for Dot, he’s backed by the Northern Jazz Quartet, led by Richard Campbell. He later recorded with the Chico Hamilton Quintet, and also served as a vocal coach to Linda Blair during the filming of The Exorcist.
This track from Word Jazz Vol. II puts a positive spin on Nordine’s paranoia.
Here’s a peculiar record recommended to us by our friend Micah at KFAI’s Listening Lounge.
Kay Ballard and Arthur Siegel’s 1962 album Good Grief Charlie Brown, Peanuts, preceded television’s famous and enduring Charlie Brown Christmas by three years — it was the first attempt to bring to live the characters of Charles Schultz’s Peanuts. All of its dialogue comes from the comic strip, and the bizarre, atonal score was created by composer Fred Karlin using childrens’ toys and instruments.
Unlike the animated interpretation and the later musical You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown, this performance focuses on the relationship between Charlie Brown and Lucy Van Pelt — the fact that its text comes entirely from the early years of Schultz’s half-century run only compounds the shocking nature of Lucy’s cruelty to Charlie Brown. A 2007 biography, Schultz and Peanuts by David Michaelis, explored the relationship between the strip and its creator’s life and marriage. He based the domineering Lucy on his first wife, Joyce. Michaelis’ epic biography was criticized by some for its voyeuristic focus on the Schultz’s troubled marriage, but there is a definite correlation between his home life and the strip — the years leading up to the couple’s eventual divorce in 1972 featuring some of the cartoonist’s best work.
My own impression of the biography was that in focusing so much on Schultz’s first marriage, Michaelis overlooks other influences, such as his growing alienation from his Lutheran faith and the Church of God that had been so important to him until he left Minnesota (reflected, often times, in the theological conversations of Charlie Brown and Linus). Still, the biographer’s approach to his subject is further supported by the gradual softening of Lucy’s character in the years after 1972.
Here’s the first track from Ballard and Siegel’s interpretation of Peanuts from a decade earlier:
We love a good novelty single as much as the next record store, but this is just weird.