Peter Schickele has died at 88. He would no doubt make some joke involving the number of keys on a piano. He was a brilliant performer — an excellent musician, a superb parodist, a unique talent. Margalit Fox has written the obituary for the New York Times: “Peter Schickele, Composer and Gleeful Sire of P.D.Q. Bach, Dies at 88.” It is a virtuosic obit, befitting the subject.

In recent years, I’ve said, “Peter Schickele could not have a career today. Neither could Victor Borge, probably. Their comedy depended too much on a general cultural literacy. Their jokes, their puns, their allusions. Who would laugh?”

Maybe I am being cynical. Maybe I’m being realistic.

A sentence from Ms. Fox’s obit:

Leaping from Mr. Schickele’s pen in P.D.Q.’s name were compositions like the “No-No Nonette,” the cantata “Iphigenia in Brooklyn,” the “Unbegun” Symphony and “Pervertimento for Bagpipes, Bicycle and Balloons.”

Okay. Let me ask: Do people today — enough of them — know what a nonet is? Do they know about the musical comedy No, No, Nanette? Or about the opera Iphigénie en Tauride? Or about the “Unfinished” Symphony? Have they heard the term “divertimento” (making “pervertimento” funny)?

Maybe so. Maybe not. It’s hard for me to imagine Schickele achieving popularity and fame, if he had started out in, say, 1995.

An expert on the NFL, Kevin Gallagher, was recalling the late announcer in Oakland, Bill King — who, in 1977, said, “Jascha Heifetz never played a violin with more dexterity than Kenny Stabler is playing the Minnesota defense this afternoon.” The majority of his listeners, no doubt, knew the name “Heifetz.” Had some sense that he was a great violinist.

Today? Do people know about Heifetz? Or the great violinists of our own time — Maxim Vengerov, Hilary Hahn, Lisa Batiashvili?

In about 1977, come to think of it, my grandfather took me to a University of Michigan football game. In the stands, he introduced me to a retired and legendary coach. “Jay, this is Fritz Crisler,” said my grandfather. Crisler smiled and said, “Not to be confused with the violinist.”

Fritz Kreisler (1875–1962) was a musician — a violinist, composer, and arranger — of world renown. “Crisler” is pronounced like “Kreisler.” The given name of Fritz Crisler was “Herbert O. Crisler.” When young Crisler played football at the University of Chicago, his coach, Amos Alonzo Stagg, gave him the nickname “Fritz” — because “Fritz” went with “Crisler.”

I’m not sure that football coaches, today, nickname their players after violinists. That does not mean we are in a worse time. Maybe we are — but it is clear, I think, that we are in a different time.

What would people think of William F. Buckley Jr.’s columns today? All those big words, all that Latin, all those historical and literary allusions? “Snob!” people would say. They said it then, too. But there were many, many people who wanted what WFB had to offer, and even hungered for it.

I don’t mean to play the fogey. But fogeys are sometimes right, you know — annoying as that is.

• While I’m in a nostalgic mood — Sports Illustrated is going under. Its editorial staff has been laid off. SI may limp along, in some fashion. But, basically, it is caput, one is given to understand.

Ladies’ Home Journal is caput. It was the first magazine in America to reach one million subscribers. The Saturday Evening Post limps along. Reader’s Digest limps along. But, basically, these are mags — great mags — of the past.

Thinking of SI writers, I think of Dan Jenkins, first and foremost, and Frank Deford. Do you know that Faulkner and Steinbeck wrote for SI? They did.

Th’ain’t nothin’ in this world that lasts — nothing material. Fortunately, the best things are everlasting . . .

• You know what I hate? Nostalgia. (You may be surprised to hear.) Sometimes, the past is overrated, and the present underrated. In some respects, the “good ol’ days” were not so good — and the days of now are very good.

Anyway, a big and perpetual theme . . .

• Instances of political correctness are so numerous and so stupid, we barely have time to roll our eyes. But I’d like to note something.

The New Orleans Opera’s new General and Artistic Director Lila Palmer has released an apology regarding using the term “Anglo-American.”

Huh? The article continues,

In a statement via Facebook, Palmer said, “On Thursday morning, I was announced as the incoming General & Artistic Director of New Orleans Opera. In the announcement, I was described as Anglo-American: someone who is both English and American. As someone raised in England with an American parent, this is how I describe myself in England not understanding how hurtful it would be in a different environment. As the incoming leader of a cultural institution of a majority-Black city in America, it was a huge misstep.”

There are many things to say about this — but I’m tempted to keep it short by channeling Bart Simpson: “Ay, caramba.”

One more thing, maybe: If someone thinks you would be offended by the term “Anglo-American,” you ought to feel insulted. “What kind of child or idiot do you think you’re talking to?”

• Speaking to a crowd in New Hampshire, before he dropped out of the presidential race, Governor Ron DeSantis said, “Every booster you take, you’re more likely to get COVID as a result.” Is that true? It seems to me not true. Does it matter that a leader such as DeSantis is saying it? I think it does matter. But very few seem concerned, for some reason.

• Here is one of the least surprising headlines of recent times: “Quebec man who blamed wildfires on government pleads guilty to setting 14 fires.” Blow me frickin’ down. (To read the article, go here.)

• Another headline reads, “Daniel Day-Lewis breaks from retirement to fete Martin Scorsese at National Board of Review Awards.” (Article here.) I’m always a little amazed when Daniel Day-Lewis reemerges — because I’m reminded of Daniel Day-Lewis, who’s amazing.

He is one of the greatest movie actors ever (by consensus). And he simply gave it up — retired. At his peak, I believe. Who has ever ceded the limelight? Who has ever been at the top of the heap and said, “Okay — finished”?

I’m sure I could not do the same. I would be gasping out lines in roles as great-grandfathers, probably. But I admire this fellow, Cecil Day-Lewis’s son (who is married to Arthur Miller’s daughter).

• Have you seen this? A hoot, and clever.

• A friend alerted me to the existence of the state treasurer of Alabama — Young Boozer III. What a perfect name, especially in such a state. Untoppable. Even by a IV.

• Let me slip you a couple of concert reviews — well, the first is an opera review: of Madama Butterfly at the Met. Go here. And a proper concert review? Of the Cleveland Orchestra in Carnegie Hall: here.

• In my column, I keep noting the deaths of World War II figures. They seem to be about a hundred (years old). Did you see this obit? “Russell Hamler, Last of World War II’s Merrill’s Marauders, Dies at 99.” Flabbergasting. Jaw-dropping. Thank God for Russell Hamler and his brothers-in-arms.

• Maybe I could share a couple of pictures from New York. I thought the below apartment building was kind of neat — snapped it on a rainy-sleety evening:

A day at the golf range. Kind of brisk. But, blessedly, quiet. One could concentrate.

• I don’t know whether you know this, but the Detroit Lions are in the playoffs. Which is rare. We have won two games in these playoffs — which we had not done since 1957. On Sunday night, we play for the NFC Championship. I thank you for your good wishes. See you later.

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