Every Friday night we smooth our way into the weekend with music, the universal language. These selections demonstrate that despite what is being passed off as art today, there is plenty of really good music available. Come along and enjoy!

For many years Obie Yadgar was the voice of classical music on Milwaukee radio. At WFMR and then at WUWM Milwaukee Public Radio where we worked together and formed a wonderful friendship.

News of Obie’s death from cancer last week deeply saddened me. Trite but true. Obie may have been the nicest gentleman I’ve ever known. This week (and next because I’ve got a bunch) memories of Obie. Some I’ve written about and some I haven’t. Enjoy my tribute to a great talent who brought so much joy to so many.

Obie returned to the airwaves in early September of 2022 with a weekly one-hour program on Sunday mornings at WMSE, 91.7 FM in Milwaukee titled “Obie’s Opus,” named after one of Obie’s books.

Obie told me missed being on air, but one of the main reasons he was elated was his dear wife Judy. She had passed away a few months prior to Obie’s radio return and wanted him back on the air and knew better than anyone how Obie yearned to be in front of a microphone again.

We begin with German composer and pianist Johannes Brahms, widely considered one of his era’s most important artists. This past May marked Brahms’ 190th birthday and Obie and I corresponded on Facebook.

Obie: “Brahms is my man. You can listen to, let’s say, a Brahms Symphony 50 times and each time you’ll hear something new. I have listened to Brahms forever and each hearing is still full of surprises for me.”

In the 1980’s when I was hosting the morning drive all-news magazine at WUWM, Obie would follow me at 9:00 and we’d segue into his program with what we called our “chat.” It was an attempt to remain seamless and keep listeners listening by teasing them as Obie and I promoted his show.

That’s the way the management drew it up.

Fine, Obie and I said to that directive. No problem. However…

Before we started this programming twist I went to Obie and said something to the effect that he would come in and tell me all about the music he was going to play between 9:00 and 1:00.

Simple, right?

Not so simple.

Obie would pick his opening selection and then go from there, spontaneously choosing each piece as the show progressed.  Thus, it didn’t take long for Obie to respond to my question, “What are you going to start with this morning?”

We basically had about two and a half minutes to fill. So we’d chat. Sometimes about the NPR arts/entertainment segment that aired just before what we called our “shtick.” But usually the topic was whatever we happened to come up with, always unscripted, unrehearsed, never planned ahead of time.

Listeners told us they’d stop what they were doing at 8:58 in the morning. Pulled the car over. Didn’t go into the office until 9:01. Carried a radio out to the garden. So as not to miss “the chat.”

During one of those first chats Obie divulged he was “Assyrian, emphasis on the ass.” As with almost all of our chats I had no idea what would happen or be siad, the beauty of the whle segment. And here was this classical music sophisticate using that kind of language live on the air. Eyebrow-raising radio even for the 80’s.

How did we react, seconds later? Obie and I laughed. And I realized at that moment Obie could easily get away with that stuff.

We never argued. We never debated. Unlike the tone of talk on the air today. The closest we came if you want to term it that way came on February 4, 1983. Roughly 8:53 am. The news came across the wire, yes, the wire. Karen Carpenter had died. A few minutes later Obie walked into the newsroom where our studio was located and I informed him in one of those rare times we talked about our talk prior to going on air.

I loved Karen Carpenter. Obie said on the chat that she reminded him of ” a potato.” Can’t recall exactly what he meant, just that he was not the fan I was.

I sincerely hope Obie and Karen can now…chat.

Obie had several quality traits, including a marvelous sense of humor.

The Milwaukee Ballet invited us to join the large cast of local celebrities one year for their New Year’s Eve production of “The Nutty Nutcracker.” They had us dressed up as medieval musicians right down to the tights and glam-filled jackets. For our part we walked onstage with children’s stick horses and pretended to play loud brassy horns.

Backstage Obie came up with the idea that after we blew our horns we would turn and look at each other quite seriously, pause dramatically, and simultaneously wipe our mouths with our sleeves. To exit we put the sticks between our legs and galloped off.

Unfortunately I have no video or photos of that stupendous moment in Milwaukee Ballet history.

On some of Obie’s WMSE programs in his marvelous story-telling fashion he referred to some classical artists as rock stars.

Andrew Benson Brown, a Missouri-based poet, journalist, and writing coach wrote in November of 2022:

Franz Liszt (1811 – 1886) epitomized the early musical celebrity. He idolized Beethoven, who after listening to Liszt play for him as a child, allegedly gave the boy a kiss on the forehead and told him that he would bring “joy and happiness to many.” Liszt was equally inspired by Paganini and sought to become the virtuoso of the piano. He began giving solo recitals in large halls across Europe at age 11, turning the piano sideways on stage and opening the lid to enhance the exhibition.

His concerts were the stuff of legend. The poet Heinrich Heine described him playing a pianistic imitation: “We saw the lightning flashes cross his own face, his lips trembled as though in the stormwind, and his long locks of hair seemed to drip the thundershower he depicted.”

These performances caused states of hysteria that Heine called “Lisztomania.” People fainted. Audiences would rush the stage, tearing apart Liszt’s velvet gloves and silk handkerchiefs for mementos. Women put his locks of hair, coffee dregs, and even a cigar butt into vials or lockets to wear.

According to Heine, a physician explained the phenomenon by the “magnetism, galvanism, electricity” of perfumed, perspiring people crowded together under wax lights. Whatever the exact cause, the effect was real: Liszt was the first rock star.