Showing posts with label Fiona Talkington. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiona Talkington. Show all posts

Thursday, 9 March 2017

On Radio 3 Late Junction, Annette Peacock makes claims for Candy Dulfer's playing

On Radio 3 Late Junction, Annette Peacock makes claims for Candy Dulfer's playing

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2016 (20 to 27 October)
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)


8 March

On Radio 3 Late Junction from 11.00 p.m., during International Women's Day (8 March 2017), Annette Peacock makes claims for Candy Dulfer's playing (and, more surprisingly, about childcare¹ [last paragraph])

When, in one of the programme's signature seamless trio of tracks, Annette Peacock played 'Lily Was Here' [at 00:20 mins in, but maybe only for the next 30 days] on Radio 3 Late Junction (@BBCRadio3 #LateJunction) - on the same evening when Kerry Andrew gave us her mix-tape for International Women's Day (#InternationalWomensDay) - one straightaway recognized Dave Stewart with saxophonist Candy Dulfer...

Then, as Peacock spoke to presenter Fiona Talkington (@fionatalkington) and explained / justified her choices, she praised Dulfer, and made a few assertions [at around 23:00 mins in, available to listen to for the next 30 days] about the stature of Dulfer's playing. These were in the context of being asked to say what these three tracks were, which, as Talkington described it, Peacock had Not just chosen, but crafted together, and are transcribed here (and below¹) :

Well, of course, the first track was Diamanda Galás, and, uh, the second was ‘My mama never taught me how to cook’, by Annette Peacock. And, uh, Diamanda’s track, I think, was recorded in 1996, mine was… 19… 78. And the last one, Candy Dulfer, that was 1980, yeah.




I mean, the thing about Candy is that, you know, she’s just the embodiment of effortless joyous expression. She is a consummate musician – she was born to do this, you know. And every phrase is lyrical and definitive, and she is one of the great players on the instrument, beyond the equal of, you know, many of her male counterparts, I think.

You know, those three tracks were all, sort of, done in one take, you know, Diamanda’s, mine and Candy’s – just spontaneously, basically, they were recorded as a one-take sort of jam, basically. So you get that sort of realism when that’s happening, you know – it’s a different sort of approach to recording.

[To consider the matters raised in the above Tweets, the transcript is continued below¹, with comments².]


Yet are Peacock's comments especially borne out by this track by Dulfer, which we will all know - but need not, for that reason, think remarkable (please see below) - or which we may not even like all that much ? :


At the time, it then seemed best to Twitterate the question... :







In a way, one cannot disagree with what Candy Dulfer herself comments, except that :

(a) The track was, at the time, a hit / it was in the charts

(b) Which means that, love even what one does, might one still not wish to hear it, over and over, for weeks - or months ?

(c) The danger with 'Lily Was Here' is that it had grounds to be immensely popular, and there is almost nothing not to like - even so, does the fact remain that something that is lacking reasons not to be liked is a subtly different matter from there being positive reasons to like it... ?




Could one contend, though, that Baker Street – cited on account of its own sax solo, by Raphael Ravenscroft – makes a bigger impact and statement ?



Unlike the Dave Stewart track, and Dulfer’s sax-playing, does Gerry Rafferty’s song, and the place of the solo within it, make a more persuasive case that we should actually approve of it, not disapprove of it ?




End-notes :

¹ Fiona T. : I’m so glad, Annette, that you chose ‘My mama never taught me how to cook’, because, uh, there are some absolutely great lines in there, which you deliver with, with such immaculate timing² – I think we’re all sitting there, going, I’m not big in the kitchen, I’m not big on cleaning, and we’re all, sort of, shouting, Yes, I completely agree with you ! Um, would it be OK to take that as a feminist anthem for us, even to-day ?

Annette P. : It is ! I’ve always thought of it as a feminist - I’m so delighted to hear you say that, ’cause that’s what I’ve always thought of it as. You know, My destiny’s not to serve. I’m a woman – my destiny is to create. (Laughs) We are the embodiment of the creative process aren’t we ?

Fiona T. : […] I guess, along with all of that, we ultimately, somehow or other, we do have to clean the kitchen and pick the children up from school, and, and, and balance things. And it’s all those things that make us so good at juggling… ?

Annette P. : That’s true, but I think men are better at those… things, like, you know. I mean, women are brilliant : if you can keep a kid alive to the age of five, you're a genius – so many things can go wrong. And women have a huge investment in, you know, the offspring surviving – much greater than men. But, once a child gets to be the age, you know, where they are self sufficient, in a way, then men can take over at that point. You know, it's a job, a kind of job that men are very suited for, you know : it's, like, disciplined and, you know, they're good at those kinds of things – more than women, I think.


² There are, indeed, some hilarious lines in the song [which can be heard here, on YouTube (@YouTube)], delivered equally hilariously (and not always sung as such, but – amongst other things – wailed, or squealed, or shrieked), which have words stressed, or distended for suggestive emphasis, and defy being taken literally (or seriously), for example :

My mama never taught me how to cook
That’s why I am
so skinny !



The succeeding part of the song, before the singer’s persona has left home and become involved with other men (as at the end of the second section next quoted, or in a line such as I wanna suck your honey), is again rendered with drawled emphasis :

My mama never taught me how to cook
But my brother, now, my brother, he taught me how to
eat
Daddy never taught me to
suck seed
That’s why I’m so crazy, crazy, crazy


And :

Never had no one to believe in me,
Even though, you know, my brother gave me a
head start
Even though, you know, my brother gave me a, a
head start
And I’ve had men say ‘Hey, baby, your love is the greatest show on earth !’



However, the text now clearly speaks of incestuous oral sex, neither of which the song’s persona seems to regret, but rather cherish – which, when Talkington refers to ‘some absolutely great lines in there, which you deliver with, with such immaculate timing’, might be what we would more naturally think of than the lines that she quotes, which are relatively indistinct, and where wrily making ‘succeed’ sound like ‘suck seed’, or equally smuttily prolonging the word ‘head’, do not enter into it.

Peacock is invited to endorse a view of ‘Mama never taught me how to cook’ as a feminist anthem¹, and does so. Both in the last paragraph quoted above¹ from the broadcast, and at this point, someone seems to be being disingenuous on International Women’s Day…




Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)

Thursday, 12 November 2015

Un cane e il cuore ?

This is a Festival review of Heart of a Dog (2015)

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2015 (3 to 13 September)
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)


12 November (Tweets added, 19 December, 26-28 May 2016)

This is a Festival review of Heart of a Dog (2015)

This is a review, resulting from a screening at Hyde Park Picture House (@HydeParkPH), Leeds, during Leeds International Film Festival (@leedsfilmfest, #LIFF29)



Heart of a Dog (2015) is personal, but universal, and Laurie Anderson provokes us to examine our thoughts and feelings about the mortality of others, and that of ourselves. What we have to know in her film, we will - over time - be told, but we most need to give ourselves over to its visual aspects, which, for some, might be a testing fifteen minutes or so of confusion, unless they learn to be able to yield to the purely cinematic nature of what is to be seen*. For, although there is a narrative to this work, it is not just or even the one that we may take it to be, and images and words are allusive in ways at which we can only later begin to grasp, maybe not whilst still in the cinema.

Hearing excerpts of the soundtrack, through the ministry of Fiona Talkington’s (@fionatalkington’s) recent fortnight on Radio 3’s (@BBCRadio3’s) Late Junction (#LateJunction), had created a little apprehension about what watching Heart of a Dog (2015) - what might it be like, and was it going to be any good ? However, what had been heard was a pale shadow of the film itself, but it did usefully preview some of its meditative and authorial traits, as well as introducing the characteristics of Anderson’s composed sound-world. This film is in the league of complete works of art, which meant that what had been broadcast proved somewhat misleading about the strength of the whole : if one knows Psycho (1960), Herrmann’s score may be divorced from it and evoke its scenes with success (or, for that matter, the soundtrack could – as Scorsese suggests in Hitchcock / Truffaut (2015) – be removed without affecting the power of, and story contained in, Hitchcock’s shots).

Anderson’s principal presence is in a voice-over, which takes a while to materialize, and is sometimes silent for periods at a time. (Perhaps because of an issue with the DCP, or with the audio-system, that emanation did not seem altogether seamless ?) Again, it makes this film hers, but it does so quite without forcing it or her beliefs on us. Although she consults her spiritual teacher, and reports what her teacher told her, this is not even in the nature of confession, or of imparting immutable truth, but as one wanting to understand what it might be for another to die – and, thus, for Anderson herself to die – and to present that as a matter for consideration and enquiry.



That other may (initially) be a dog, and Anderson and others who know Lolabelle may have been guided to decisions with which some might take issue (i.e. as to what was right or clinically best for her), but we should not be put off by that : the question of this death and dying is not an isolated, maudlin one, but opens out to ask what we perceive of life, and what it and reality could consist in. When Anderson talks to us, she is gregarious in this role, and willing to share – whether it is through her wry humour, or by expressing her pain or uncertainty, that is what she wants to convey, rather than any claim to insight or to observations with which we cannot find a relation.

In some moments, where Anderson is choosing to be sparing with spoken words, she lets other aspects of the film talk to us : the richness comes through in a sort of surrender, in which one senses that she probably surrendered her own preconceptions about what this film was to be, along with artistic judgements of a highly conscious kind, to the organizational forces within memory, pattern, and illusion. The images, and recollections as to their shifting shape, colour, and formation, are what remain with us after this film – the strong sense of an artist engaging deeply with issues about our relations with each other, and what, in them and in us, make us who we feel ourselves to be.










End-notes

* One can read, in the comments on IMDb, the horribly literal expectations of Leviathan (2012) that it is accused of having disappointed…




Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)

Sunday, 12 May 2013

Report from Cheltenham Jazz Festival - Was that really two duos ?

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)


12 May




Don't get me wrong...

If the set had been broadcast, and so you couldn't see Neil Yates on stage and unable to make / find an opening in what Marius Neset was doing, maybe you'd not have noticed his absence from the texture - or assumed that he smoked and had wandered off for a roll-up, etc., etc.



Don't get me wrong also...

What Neset (with or without Dave Stapleton) and fellow Norwegian Daniel Herskedal were doing / playing was just fine, but, for stretches that felt awkward for me, it did make Yates' being there redundant.

(Herskedal's solo number on tuba with pedal-invoked multi-tracking was great, but, as I suggest, all too symptomatic of the Brito-Norwegian divide between audience left and right.)



Don't get me wrong finally...

Of course, a quartet doesn't have to be playing on all four cylinders at once, but if a member (or two) of the personnel might as well be down the pub... Maybe Neset thought that the photo from the Cheltenham Jazz Festival web-site gave him licence 'to take charge', as if it were a replication of his own quartet :





Overall, whatever the curatorship of @fionatalkington hoped for and strong sax apart, more like the Cheltenham Double than the Edition Quartet ?


Post-script

On her blog, @maryleamington had this reaction to Neset and the quartet :

But on Saturday night we saw another Marius (last glimpsed in Flight by Dave Stapleton at St George’s Brandon Hill last year), unexpectedly fragile, human, reflective. Just as a Michelangelo sculpture moves us as its strength appears out of simple form (I am thinking of his unfinished Slaves here), so Marius has the same effect on me. The Edition Quartet is a perfect ensemble – Dave Stapleton on piano, Neil Yates on trumpet, Daniel Herskedal on tuba and Marius on saxophones.


Leamington, rightly impressed by Neset in himself, calls the Edition Quartet perfect - however, I thought of the track Secret World from Peter Gabriel's album US (which is where I started) :

Divided in two
Like Adam and Eve



Saturday, 11 February 2012

That damn' Derham attitude!

More views of - or after - Cambridge Film Festival 2011
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)


11 February

It's not exactly an oral swagger, but an over-hasty, confidential familiarity - no, an overfamiliarity - from one who is making quite clear who's boss in the presenter / listener relationship, IF you let her (which she wants you to do, and almost assumes that you will).

Yesterday, she said as if it were an expletive, or, rather, admiration of someone's bum, Gorgeous piece!, then whiffled off into some - perhaps more scripted (and, to be honest, I do not know whether these presenters write their own material) - string of information. As ever, briskly, with almost unnecessarily precise diction, which reinforces the message I know what I'm talking about, you should listen to me.

Unfortunately, it's so forced, almost so desperate to be liked and to make ad libs full of her own opinions and 'personality', that, for me, it is an unsubtle stamp of would-be trustworthiness, not remotely the sort of underlying reassurance that is just inherent in, say, the style of Fiona Talkington.


Yet this Derham attitude is not her unique phenomenon, for Radio 3 seems 'to have bought into' this feminine style of clipped authority: to my mind, Suzy Klein is almost indistinguishable, save that she is the only person that I have heard using the word 'please' in such a barked way* that it is quite out of place in asking a performer being interviewed to answer whatever he or she is there to talk about:

It had echoes of a child begging for something that he or she knows is forbidden (or, at least, it's time has not yet come), but delivered not in quite such a wheedling way, but as if to ingratiate on some other level, but, not on her own behalf, but as the servant of the listening audience: it's as if she is a Jesus, pleading with the Father for forgiveness for the sinners on their knees before the cross - give them, I beseech thee, but the answer to this question in your almighty mercy...


End-notes

* And unnecessarily using it, to impart some sense of God knows what! - counterfactual humility?