Where the hell have you been?

I've been here the whole time, doing my impersonation of a church mouse and now, having eaten all the cheese, I've come back to the keyboard. Briefly. Thanks to Her Majesty, I've got an extra day off, so I thought I'd squander it by having an unplanned holiday, like you do. So, all that's left to say is I'm going outside now. I may be some time. If I can be arsed, you'll find me on my other blog. Over there somewhere. O the wanderlust is on me....

Normal service has been resumed

It’s been a while. I’ve got no excuse. It’s not as if I’ve been out every night. I guess I’m more tired than I realise. It all started to go wrong last Thursday night and, one week later, I’m still out of sorts.

Let’s get the obituaries out of the way, first. As I type, BBC4 is showing ‘Top of The Pops 77’. She’s not on this particular edition, but 1977 was the year that Donna Summer’s ‘I Feel Love’ was blaring out of every radio and at every school disco. Georgio Moroder’s hypnotic backing track provided the ideal accompaniment to Ms. Summer’s voice and catapulted her into the mainstream. Eh? Yes, the mainstream. Don’t you remember her more saucy records? She went on to have a successful career, with many hits in the UK. My favourite is ‘Dinner With Gershwin’, which came much later, and her duet with Barbra Streisand, ‘Enough Is Enough’, is worthy of mention, but she’ll always be remembered, fondly, by those of a certain age, for ‘I Feel Love’.

Both this week’s and last week’s rehearsals went reasonably well. Brahms and Kabalevsky are beginning to sound good enough to fool the audience into thinking that some of us can actually play, but it appears that ‘The Great Gate of Kiev’ from ‘Pictures at an Exhibition’ shall not let us pass. With only 23 days to go, why am I blogging?

Last Wednesday, I went back to the RCS for ‘The Duchess of Malfi’ and on Thursday, I was at the Citizens Theatre for ‘King Lear’ (where it was almost hours before there was a comfort break). I’m not qualified to talk about these plays (or ‘Measure for Measure’ from the previous week), but the high body count was noticeable. Perhaps I’ll return to the subject of Renaissance drama in the Autumn, when I’ll be having a much closer examination of ‘The Duchess of Malfi’, in an effort to ‘do’ English Literature?

I had a normal Friday, re-acquainting myself with the washing machine, and Saturday was spent engaged in shopping and banking duties. Sunday brought rain and a party. The SPL trophy was presented to the 2011-2012 champions, but not before a jazz band, a juggler, a unicyclist, the Elvis Cleaning Company and the Thai Tims entertained the crowd, and Gary Hooper scored five goals to send the Jambos back to Edinburgh with their tails between their legs.

Monday found me in the City Halls for the Merchant Voices Summer Concert. Apart from the audience clapping between movements, it went well. Accompanied by the St. James Orchestra, they treated us to, among other things, Faure’s ‘Requiem’ and a rendition of ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ that had me wiping the tears from my tired, old eyes. I think I might go and see their next concert (ahem).

To round off, some words about the BBC SSO ‘Afternoon Performance’ at the City Halls. It really isn’t that long since the name ‘Stravinsky’ would give me the heebeegeebees. The second piece after the interval, the plinky-plonky ‘Movements for Piano and Orchestra’, could only serve to reinforce that prejudice or misconception. The rest of the programme, however, was a delight, and well worth taking a half a day of leave from the cultural backwater that is my day job.

Opening with what we would call ‘Song of the Volga Boatmen’, the SSO, and guest soloist (where appropriate), Steven Osborne, treated us to quite a few interesting works by this versatile composer; ‘Concerto in D for String Orchestra’, ‘Capriccio for Piano and Orchestra’, an orchestration of Chopin’s ‘Grande Valse Brillante’ and the ‘Concerto for Piano and Wind Instruments’. Perhaps it’s time I confronted my fears?

Suspicious mind

Is ‘Runnicles Weekend’ the BBC SSO’s answer to the RSNO’s ‘Au Revoir Stephane’? That little thought popped into my head as I sat in the City Halls waiting for the closing concert of the weekend to begin. I’m very cruel, I know, but it certainly put ‘Scotland’s Maestro’ in the spotlight at a time when the MD of the RSNO is waving a long goodbye to Scotland.

The first half lasted around 15 minutes, and featured Principal Cellist Martin Storey in the beautiful, haunting ‘Mariel’ by the Argentinian-born composer Osvaldo Golijov. The second half was given over to Bruckner’s Seventh Symphony, an epic and loud piece needing five horns, four trumpets, four trombones and four Wagner Tubas. What’s a Wagner Tuba? It’s a tenor-bass horn (in other words, a big tenor horn). I bet you’re thinking that I hated the whole thing. Well, I didn’t. I actually enjoyed it.

Earlier, I took a drive out to the RSPB reserve at Lochwinnoch. I created a bit of controversy when I said that I might have seen a Wood Warbler. If I were to believe the experts, I saw a Willow Warbler (wearing a yellow scarf or bib). Apart from the usual suspects, I also saw a Blackcap.

Back to work tomorrow, but it doesn’t stop; one rehearsal and two plays still to go before I can stay at home and be miserable, instead of going out and being miserable.

A night at the opera

This going out thing is getting tedious. No sooner have I tidied away the debris from the night before than I have to do it all over again. It’s just as well that tomorrow is a holiday. It might allow me to catch up on serious things like washing, ironing and blogging. I’m spending far too much time thinking about where I’m going and not about where I’ve been or where I am, though the latter does not bear thinking about.

For a bit of variety, I decided to go out in the afternoon, and return in the early evening. To achieve this, I went to the Theatre Royal to see, for the third time, the much-revived, 1980 Anthony Besch production of Puccini's 'Tosca'. I saw it in 1992, and possibly in 2002. My last opera memory, which may not necessarily be the last opera I attended, was Verdi’s ‘Aida’, set during the Seven Day War between Israel and Egypt! As I type, I’m having a terrible dose of déjà vu. I remember slagging it off somewhere else on the Internet, perhaps on my old web site, or perhaps it was in an e-mail to someone with whom I no longer correspond (which is most people I have ever met). I guess it must have been after the lavish production of Verdi’s ‘La Traviata’, which was about this time ten years ago; a night more memorable for the state of my health rather than the entertainment on show. Anyway, I can’t tell when I last attended an opera.

It may just be the result of fatigue on the sixth day of this marathon session, or it may be that I no longer see opera as an enjoyable art form, but I was quite bored and wanted to go home. My experience wasn’t enhanced by the number of people seated in the Balcony who coughed loudly, with no intent to muffle, all the way through the performance, just as they would if they were watching a DVD in their front room. I also had difficulty seeing past the rather large head of the young gentleman in the seat in front. Perhaps I should splash out on a more expensive seat, next time?

Musically, it’s a better work than ‘La Boheme’, but I don’t find Puccini’s music as interesting, or as stirring, as that of Verdi. Irrespective of my taste, it was well-played by the wonderful Orchestra of Scottish Opera, conducted by Francesco Corti. It's an ensemble which, sadly, is still having to watch its back for fear of those who would erase it from history, presumably having never heard it play.

Jose Ferrero, as Mario Cavaradossi, took until the second act to get going, and was still somewhat unconvincing in the role at the end. Susannah Glanville was an equally uninspiring Tosca, and from where I was sitting, she looked like Keeley Hawes for two acts and Michelle of the Resistance for the third and final act. Yet again, I failed to bring my opera glasses! Both leads looked very young, so may improve with age, something I felt that Floria Tosca should have had on her side. Ms Glanville looked far too young, or was it too thin? Robert Poulton stole the show as Scarpia, the evil Chief of Police, and he was booed and hissed as the cast took their bows. Honourable mention must go to David Morrison as the Sacristan.

I think I may have been having a bad day, so was never going to be as receptive to the performers and the performances as I should have been. One thing that would have helped, I think, would have been better supertitles; a great deal of the libretto was without translation. Enough complaints! Time for bed. Runnicles and Bruckner tomorrow, and I’ll need a good rest for that

Not getting it is the new getting it

Stravinsky’s ‘The Rite of Spring’; a work that led to fisticuffs on its first performance, and something I’ve always had trouble listening to. One night last summer, I was forced to pump up the volume on my stereo in order to give a little hint to the Clampitts downstairs that whatever social event they were having in their so-called garden, it was quite unacceptable at half-past midnight. I’d hoped that ‘The Rite’ would chase them off, but they were impervious to it, and not just because they were a bunch of (not recovering) alcoholics.

As far as I know, not a single punch was thrown at the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall last night, though if I had been Deneve, I’d have had very strong words with whoever was responsible for maintaining the hearing-aid loop, which was whistling like crazy throughout the concert. Last night may just have been the night when I stopped fearing this piece and started to believe that I could actually enjoy it. The augmented orchestra helped, although the BBC SSO appears to be able to achieve that kind of noise with just a couple of extra brass players. Following the lead of both Bill Chandler and Deneve, himself, I decided to concentrate on the complicated rhythms of the work, instead of looking for a memorable tune, and this appears to be the key to cracking the code of ‘The Rite’.

Prior to the concert, Associate Leader, William Chandler, who hasn’t aged much in the 20 years since he joined the orchestra, gave a very entertaining and informative talk on the evening’s programme. He waxed lyrical about Debussy’s impressionist style and told of the row that accompanied the commissioning of Samuel Barber’s Violin Concerto, before relating the tale of the fight that broke out at the premiere of ‘The Rite’ in Paris. Chandler also alluded to the fact that the evening would see the penultimate appearance of Stephane Deneve as Musical Director, and the Maestro himself later remarked on his love for the word, and its bittersweet meaning last night.

What can I say about Deneve? Unfortunately, I have to start with my shame and embarrassment at my only ever having attended one concert of his prior to last night. He has been a breath of fresh air, and I doubt that there are many conductors with a personality and enthusiasm to match his (Runnicles take note). From the moment he walks on to the stage, with that mop of curly hair trailing behind his beaming face, he exudes joy. With his little speeches before the concert and his gestures to the players and the audience and the end, his obvious rapport with, and love of, both the music and the Glasgow crowd is clear to see, and he will be sadly missed. He is inimitable, that is clear, and no one should expect to see his like again here for a long, long time. I fear that, if his successor can’t engage with the audience in a similar way, the RSNO may revert back to its staid, boring old self, and all his work will have been for nought. We will see him again. He is destined to become the new Jȁrvi, returning once a year to grace us with his charm.

What of the concert, itself? Opening with Debussy’s prelude to the afternoon of a faun (later, I promise), with Katherine Bryan providing the famous flute solo, Deneve had the audience eating out of his hand long before the virtuoso, Canadian violinist James Ehnes gave us his take on Barber’s concerto, and, not content with one encore, the Caprice No. 24 by Paganini, he gave us a second, the Third Movement of J.S. Bach’s Third Sonata for Violin, and all this as Deneve sat with the basses. After this, came the interval. After that, ‘The Rite of Spring’. It was over all too soon.

Earlier in the day, I went to the Gallery of Modern Art for more from the Glasgow International Festival of Visual Arts. I saw a pile of sawdust, some plastic bags and sellotape put together (what else can I say?) by Karla Black

I saw, amongst other things, items by David Shrigley and the Turner Prize winner Martin Boyce, then I went to an exhibition of photographs by Alan Dimmick, whose father I worked with many years ago. All of the photos were of arty types from Glasgow, almost all of whom I had never heard of, including the woman who was wearing a t-shirt with the words ‘Not getting it is the new getting it’. All this modern art, and I still wasn’t getting it. If I had thought that the sawdust was bad, I was unprepared for what I saw at the Centre for Contemporary Arts. Sadly, the CCA, unlike GOMA, does not allow the taking of photographs, not that there was much to snap.

First up, a projector on a pile of rubble and a little picture on the wall near the floor. Next, an actual table tennis table, and anyone could play. This was, apparently, ‘Ping Pong Club – Cultural Situations’ by Julius Koller. At the end of that space, Walter Sickert’s painting of Jack the Ripper’s bedroom. In the room next door, pencil drawings, at least one of which wasn’t suitable for the kids wandering around the place, and a video loop of a guy tumbling down (up, actually, as it was backwards) stairs near Woodlands Terrace. This appears to have been ‘This sort of thing shouldn’t happen round here’ by Rob Kennedy. Back to the room with the table tennis; three large TVs sat side-by-side, and the same video showing on all three, again, by Rob Kennedy, entitled ‘Have faith or pandemonium’. There was also a film in the cinema, but I have no idea what it was called. Finally, I went upstairs to the Intermedia Gallery, where I was greeted by a large ghetto-blaster and two video monitors on the floor. This appeared to be something about videos of training shoes on YouTube, by someone called Charlotte Prodger. I left, unimpressed.

When faced with such things, it might help to remember that someone created them; someone put their heart and soul into them, whatever they are. Not getting it is the new getting it? That’s not really the problem, is it? People are being ‘paid’ for this; they are being lauded for this; they expect that unsuspecting members of the general public (i.e., not just their pretentious, arty pals) will spend time looking at whatever the hell is in front of them. Arty farty nonsense? Art for art’s sake? Pretentious for the sake of it? I have no idea, but, at a time like this, I feel the need to appropriate a phrase from an e-mail I received recently: ‘if this is art, then art is easy’.

As they day drew to a close, the ‘supermoon’ became the focus of attention (though it turns out that it may have been at its most super at 4am!). I was forced to resurrect my 30-year old Canon AE1, with 75-300mm zoom and a 2x tele-converter, and I just happened to have a roll of film sitting on a shelf. Sadly, this camera is very clunky, and my cable release appears to jam every so often, so I have no idea what, if anything, I took pictures of, but this is what I got with my IXUS230 compact. It just looks like any other moon (and, according to Pete Lawrence, no more special than the last supermoon).

I'll stir-fry you in my wok

Trust ClassicFM to capture the zeitgeist. There I was, driving along Cathedral Street, when what comes on the radio but the ‘Romance’ from Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 20 in D Minor K466. You know the one; do-do de do de-do de do de do, etc. ‘What’s the problem with that?’, I hear you say. Well, I was on my way home from the City Halls after a Scottish Chamber Orchestra concert which featured this piece, played the American pianist, Jonathan Biss (who happens to be the grandson of the woman for whom Samuel Barber wrote his Cello Concerto).  The orchestra, under the baton of young Czech conductor Jakub Hrusa, began with Dvorak’s Czech Suite, Op. 39, the reason why I was attending the concert in the first place, and finished with Beethoven’s Symphony No.2, a work with which I am barely familiar. This was my first (and last) SCO concert of this season, and I suspect I will have missed more inspiring programmes. It was a good concert, but nothing spectacular. The SCO doesn’t have whatever the BBC SSO has, but my ears are always glad of it.

It wasn’t all music. Earlier in the day, I stopped off at Glasgow Green for a look at Jeremy Deller’s Stonehenge bouncy castle

When I arrived, people of all ages and many nationalities were sampling its delights, but I was more interested in the neighbours

I found the rules rather restrictive, and more than a little disturbing

I don’t even wander round my own house without shoes on; padding about in a public place in my socks is near the top of my list of life’s icky experiences. My fears were realised when I accidentally stood in a puddle, but I just had to put it to the back of my mind and enjoy the work as best as I could. We’re meant to learn something from art, aren’t we? Well, I realised that I can’t lift both feet off the ‘ground’ at the same time, so I couldn’t jump like everyone else seemed to be able to do. I tried trotting around it, a bit like Miranda Hart probably would, and I did a comedy fall; again, much like Miranda might. This allowed me to take a photo lying down. 

Soon, it was time to retrieve my shoes and head home, but not before I went to see the horses again.

A quick walk along to the restored Doulton Fountain opposite the People’s Palace convinced me that I should come back another day, when the light was more suitable for photographs. The museum and the fountain will still be there, but Deller’s installation will be long gone; proof, if proof were needed, of the ephemeral nature of modern art.

Finally, the sad news broke yesterday of the death of Adam Yauch of the Beastie Boys, at the age of 47. I was never a big fan, but, through seeing some of their clever and funny videos on MTV over the years, I grew quite fond of a few of their tracks, not least Sabotage and Intergalactic. Enjoy.

A funny thing happened on the way to the forum

I should have been at the theatre, watching David Hayman in ‘King Lear’ (yes, more Shakespeare I can’t comprehend), but my conscience got the better of me and I found myself at Celtic Park for what turned out to be Mark Wilson’s last game. It was also Thai Tims Thursday, and the charming boys and girls from the Good Child Foundation, accompanied by their bum-wiggling tiger mascot (a bit like Hoopy the Huddle Hound with a personality) entertained the crowd before kick-off.

Celtic didn’t play as well as they could have, and not least because there had been seven changes to the team, but there were some good performances, particularly from the unlucky Mo Bangura, who was making his first appearance since last year (I think), and very nearly scored his first Celtic goal. The starting line up was Zaluska, M. Wilson (captain), Rogne, K. Wilson, Izaguirre, McGeoch, Wanyama, Ledley, Commons, Bangura and Stokes (who got the only goal of the game). Gary Hooper replaced Dylan McGeoch, Mark Wilson was replaced by Cha, and Kris Commons, who appears to be getting back to his best, made way for debutant Rabiu Ibrahim, who is small, strong and very, very quick. Hopefully, we’ll see more of him next season.

Apparently, six players will be leaving, and they’ve been told. We now know that Mark Wilson is one. He has been a consistent performer in his time at the club, a good servant, and a Celtic man, but has had an awful time with injuries since he joined in 2006. Last season, he became a regular in Lennon’s team, after having been neglected by Tony Mowbray. He even played at centre-half, when required, scored some goals, was booked for celebrating, captained the team and came out of his shell. He endeared himself to the sceptics in the Celtic support who never seem to appreciate loyalty, hard work and a steadying influence in the team. I did, and I’ll miss him.

So what happened to ‘King Lear’? I’m going next Thursday, instead (not anywhere near as good a seat, though). That’ll give me time to read it, not that I think it will help. It also means that I’ll be out 10 nights in a row, and 11 out of 12 nights. What can I say?

There's no remedy

Day two of nine, and I’m flagging already. By the time Thursday May 10^th is upon us, I will have been out 10 times in 11 nights. I think this is unprecedented, even for me. To be honest, if I had the money, I’d be out every night, but I think it would be cheaper, in the long run, if I just moved to somewhere that I could close the door behind me when I come home from work and just relax. However, I’m stuck here for now or for as long as I can bear it.

On Sunday night, I travelled out to Paisley for a concert by the St. James Orchestra. They opened with Beethoven’s overture ‘Egmont’, which we rehearsed for a while a few years ago. I love the ending; it’s loud and a bit crazy, and I was able to play some notes I’d not previously managed. As a result, it has a special place in my heart, but it wasn’t until Sunday that I realised that, apart from the Horns, there’s no brass it. To close the first half, guest soloist Philip Higham played Elgar’s Cello Concerto. Good memories here, too, as we played the Fourth Movement in our Summer Concert last year, with BBC SSO Principal Cellist Martin Storey doing the honours. The second half was taken up by Borodin’s 2^nd Symphony, a work I had never heard before. So, an enjoyable concert, and well worth the money.

We’re motoring along nicely towards our summer concert on the 9^th of June. ‘Colas Breugnon’ by Kabalevsky probably wouldn’t be half as bad if it wasn’t so fast, but it’s Russian, so I wouldn’t expect an easy time. The beginning of the Fourth Movement of Brahms’ Symphony No.1 is taken at a snail’s pace, which, frankly, makes it just as difficult. The transposed part for Holst’s ‘A Somerset Rhapsody’ is in at least three hellish keys. I could always ask for the ‘A’ part, but I really should be learning the scales for these keys, as that might just make me a better player. Finally, another crack at bits of ‘Pictures at an Exhibition’, or whatever that preposition should be.

Tonight, it was the Chandler Studio Theatre in the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland (the educational institution formerly known as the RSAMD), and a production of ‘Measure for Measure’. I wished I’d read it before I saw it, as I didn’t understand a great deal of it. I may come back and edit this once I’ve had some sleep (and it will all make sense), but I fear another night of the Bard will render me senseless.

Whilst pacing the corridors looking at the student noticeboards, I chanced upon a leaflet produced by the mental health charity ‘Mind’ entitled ‘Understanding Depression', which listed a whole host of symptoms, five or more of which mean that it’s likely one is suffering from the condition:

• Being restless and agitated
• Waking up early, having difficulty sleeping or sleeping more
• Feeling tired and lacking energy; doing less and less
• Not eating properly and losing or putting on weight
• Crying a lot
• Difficulty remembering things
• Feeling low-spirited for much of the time, every day
• Being unusually irritable or impatient
• Getting no pleasure out of life or what you usually enjoy
• Losing interest in your sex life (I'd have to have one, first)
• Finding it hard to concentrate or make decisions
• Blaming yourself and feeling unnecessarily guilty about things
• Lacking self-confidence and self-esteem
• Being preoccupied with negative thoughts
• Feeling numb, empty and despairing
• Feeling helpless
• Distancing yourself from others
• Taking a bleak, pessimistic view of the future
• Experiencing a sense of unreality
• Thinking about suicide

Five or more? That’s 20 out of about 25, so I’m fucked. Choices? I can pull myself together. I can do various activities. I can be drugged out of my skull for the rest of my life. I can do none of these things. I know what causes it. There are three things: two are long-term but not permanent (though there is no sense of the end); the third is permanent. I know what’s wrong and there’s no remedy.