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This is Lovergani, and we're on until noon.
And on New Year's Eve, we're on until 1 a.m.
from 7 o'clock in the evening.
The music of the stars.
13 months over WRGN and over the entire civic media radio
network.
Want to salute all our stations on the Civic Media Network?
Thank you for listening and join us on Facebook.
I played a lot of L and Sherman today.
The guy was brilliant.
Okay, he wasn't a singer.
Not in the general term.
But
he created all those lyrics.
Sometime with other people's music.
On occasion with Lou Bush's music.
Let's hear from Lou Bush in a minute.
Thank you for being here.
We're on air every Sunday.
Our first program was on November 5th, 2023.
Thanksgiving, a wonderful time, I know.
It's over, but is it really over?
I dispute that, if you don't mind.
My thanks to you for being here.
December Warm when the cold breezes blow My arms so lovin' A kind of oven To melt the sleet and snow
like an ember.
Longs to be loved just by you.
If it could be so, then you'd keep me so warm in December too.
December.
Christmas
carols, sale TV special.
His step was light His heart was all aglow And though his world was young and gay A magic carousel
games he played I still recall so well there came a
It's bull
One night, Billy was watching his favorite TV hero.
And right in the middle of a fight, G-Man Jim ran out of ammunition.
Jim, Billy's got the answer.
You, Mattel, firebolt gun.
It never runs out of ammunition.
Show him how it works, Billy.
Just drop in a perforated roll of 50 caps.
Pull back the bolt and fire a smoking person.
or flip the switch, pull back the bolt, and fire it with Vibersonic Sound.
It can fire forever that way.
You see, it's really two guns in one.
It fires caps with real smoking action, or you can switch to Vibersonic Sound.
It's the big two-way gun with moving firebolt action and air-cooled smoking barrel.
G-man Jim will never run out of ammunition again, not with the Mattel Firebolt two-way gun.
Neither will you.
Get it wherever toys are sold only six dollars.
You can tell it's Mattel.
It's swell
Between the innocence of baby hood and the dignity of manhood
We find a delightful creature called a boy.
Boys come in assorted sizes, weights, and colors, but all boys have the same cream.
To enjoy every second of every minute of every hour of every day, and to protest with noise, they're only weapon when their last minute is finished and the adult males pack them off to bed at night.
Boys are found everywhere.
On top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around or jumping to.
Mothers love them.
Little girls hate them.
Older sisters and brothers tolerate them.
Adults ignore them and heaven protects them.
A boy is truth with dirt on its face.
Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair and the hope of the future with a frog in its pocket.
When you're busy, a boy is an inconsiderate, bothersome, intruding jangle of noise.
When you want him to make a good impression, his brain turns to jelly.
Or else he becomes a savage, sadistic jungle creature, bent on destroying the world in himself with it.
A boy is a composite.
He has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword swallower, the energy of a pocket-sized atomic bomb.
and the curiosity of the camp.
He has the lungs of a dictator, the imagination of a Paul Bunyan, the shyness of a violin, the audacity of a steel trap, the enthusiasm of a firecracker.
And when he makes something, he has five thumbs on each hand.
He likes ice cream, knives, saws, Christmas, comic books.
The boy across the street, woods.
water in its natural habitat, large animals, dead, trained, Saturday mornings and fire engines.
There's not much for Sunday school, company, schools, books without pictures, music lessons, neckties, barbers, girls, overcoats, adults, or bedtime.
Nobody else is so early to rise or so late to suffer.
Nobody else gets so much fun out of trees and dog.
and breezes.
Nobody else can cram into one pocket a rusty knife, a half-eaten apple, three feet of string, an empty bull Durham sack, two gumdrops, six cents, a slingshot, a chunk of some unknown substance, and a genuine supersonic cold ring with a secret compartment.
A boy is a magical creature.
You can lock him out of your workshop, but you can't lock him out of your heart.
You can get him out of your study, but you can't get him out of your mind.
Mind as well, give up.
He's your captor, your jailer, your boss, your master.
He's that freckle-faced, pint-sized, cat-chasing bundle of noise.
But when you come home at night with only the shattered pieces of your hopes and dreams, he can mend them like new.
with those two magic words.
Hi, Dad.
How's it going for you?
Children at play Memories come from far away Taking me hold in my hand To the playground Wonderland Seasaw Lifting you high Swing
that let you touch the sky.
Then whenever you're through, painted ponies wait for you.
It's a world summertime free.
Where else would you rather be with a friend?
At your side, up you climb and down you slide.
When I hear children that play, memories come from far away.
Taking me
holding my hand to the board.
to share jungle gym or teddy bear hide and seek counting to ten or to play there once again see so lifting you high swings that let you
to the sky.
Then whenever you're through, painted ponies wait for you.
When I hear children at play, memories come from far away, taking
That's Carol
Baker.
And don't you make any noise?
So, toddling off to his trundle bed, he dreamed of the pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming, an angel song awakened our little boy blue.
Oh, the years are many, the years are long, but the little toy friends are true.
The little toy dog is covered with dust, but sturdy and staunch he stands.
And the little toy soldier is red with rust, and his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new, and the soldier was passing there.
And that was the time when our little boy blew, kissed them, and put them there.
Now don't you go till I come, he said.
Don't you make any noise.
And so, toddling off to his trundle bed, he dreamed of his pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming,
An angel song awakened our little boy blue.
For the years are many, the years are long, but the little toy friends are true.
I faithful to little boy blue they stand, each in the same old place, awaiting the touch of a little hand.
and the smile of a little face.
And they wonder, as waiting these long years through in the dust of that little chair, what has become of our little boy, Blue, since he kissed them and put them there?
Thanks for being part of our Music of the Stars.
The Four
Freshmen.
who slay right and never apart.
Ike's in the country and there's more
than one tree on which I've a place in.
time.
the music of the stars ready to wrap it up for this beginning of December although if the time was there well that'll happen on New Year's Eve by the way may as well mention it now beyond but the music of the stars with our new year's salute new year's eve seven p.m.
till one central time you could pick us up all over the world
Civic Media.us.
And even better, there are recordings of previous programs.
At Civic Media, just click on shows and watch for the music of the stars.
There we are.
Let me say hi to all our stations.
105.5.
Richland Center, WRCO, 100.9.
In Baldwin, Wisconsin, WSCM 95.7.
Park Falls, WCQM 98.3.
Hayward, Wisconsin, WHSM 101.1.
Madison, WMDX, 92.7 and 1580.
Hello, Warsaw, WXCO, 98.9 and 1230.
Milwaukee, Waukesha, WAUK 101.1 and 540 a.m.
The music
will be out in the
air on next Sunday.
Ever since I can remember, I liked this song.
The music of the stars.
I'm Lou Vergani.
When
the kids were playing cops and robbers I was buying lollipops for two Ever since I can remember I've been in love with you When the guys were choosing sites for baseball
I was dreaming up to eyes of blue Ever since I can remember I've been in love with you Then to junior high the time flew by Until the senior...
This was not just a childhood romance.
Now the dreams respond for fun as schoolmates.
the senior dad from the first sweet kiss i knew that this was not just a childhood romance now the dreams respond for fun as roommates every day
your silly fashionable boat.
Mary had lamb, his fleece was white as snow.
Now Mary had a little lamb, his fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went, that lamb was short to gold.
Humpty, Humpty Dumpty, sand up on the wall.
Settin' in the corner, now a little like Horner, in the corner, eatin' his Christmas pie.
He's stuckin' his thumbful on a plum, said, what a great guy am I?
Peter!
I wonder how many of us in these troubled times ever take time out from our busy work days to ask the question, what is a frame?
Well, frames are found in the strangest places, in your cry on the phone, from the Firth of Forth to the Straits of Magellan, in cesspools, in filter tips, near your bird, and playing on your heart strings.
A Frem likes trade school, turnip greens, iceberg ode, chicken wire, salami, Goo Goo dolls, Mrs. Sterling, birdseed pudding, and other freems.
A Frem hates cubila, clarinet reeds, fricassee of beaks and claws, turkey wattles, protozoa, anthracite, income taxes, or pain of headache, neuritis, neuralgia.
Nothing else can come home so frail.
Grove up the dell of a good Bertrand so often, or lose so many file saws.
A frame is dignity with a stall in its fame.
Bronchitis with a frog in its throat, and stupidity with a bone in its mouth.
What is a frame made of?
Well, it takes the strength of a lion, the wool of a lamb, the back of your hand, the night of the hunter, the top of the mark,
The last of the Mohicans and the hair of the dog.
There are several ways to get a frame.
Advertising the paper, jumping the lake, closing the night or punching them out.
Mothers-in-law don't particularly stay up for frames.
Traffic cops grab them, little boys eat them, and penance surf lifts them.
But you know, when you get home in the afternoon after a long, tiring day's work,
When you're tired and weary and worn and sick, miserable and dirty and crummy and shaking and nervous and frightened and panicky and drunk and raggedy and rotten and staggering and reeling and rolling in the gutter.
Oh, when you come home and sit down in your easy chair.
And that little frame jumps up on the bridge in your nose and sits there and stares at you.
Quiet.
I tell you, friends, it just kind of makes life worthwhile.
To hear those three little words, you're under arrest.
And when the sun goes down and the tide goes out, the people gather round and they all begin to shout, hey, hey, Uncle Dodd, it's a treat to beat your frame on the Mississippi mud.
Yes, if you can keep your frame when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you, if you can ask yourself what kind of a day has it been, then you'll know that a boom is only a ding-dong, but a good cigar is a frame.
An emotion can only be duplicated with life-like presence, now that we have high fidelity.
Listen to this little wave as she sings to her father.
Which am I repeating the question?
Daddy dear, daddy dear, is the world really round?
Is the world really round?
The world?
Where is it located?
I mean, not the world.
I think of a big...
It's a tricky category.
Can I take it over and come back again next week?
Tell me why, Daddy Deer?
Are there tears in your
eyes?
Why are there tears in my eyes?
I'll tell you why there's tears in my eyes.
Stop asking so many stupid questions and, and, and, and, and deal the cards.
I haven't heard anything so heart-rending since our finale was 75 years old.
Now just because we're kids because we're sort of small because we're closer
To push and shove us little kids around Now just because your throat has got a deeper voice And lots of wind to blow it out At little kids who don't dare shout You have no right You have no right To boss and beat us little kids about Just because your whisk is on your face to shave
you treat us like a slave so what it's only hair just because you wear your wallet near your heart you think you're twice as smart you know it isn't fair but we'll grow up someday and when we do I pray we won't just grow in size and sound and just be bigger by the pound I'd hate to grow
Like some I know, who pushes of the little kids around.
slipped away today.
This month we're doing a tribute to Glenn Miller.
Gone since 1944.
And I'm Lou Vergoni and you're the best audience in the world.
Thank you for being here, everybody.
Until we meet again, keep your dreams alive.
for the stars.
Until next week then, join us on Facebook.
The Music of the Stars.
I'm your host, Lou Ragani.
The Civic Media Radio Network.
CivicMedia.us all over the world.
The best music ever.
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