More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)
20 July
If you have followed a link, it should have brought you here: to an interview with Mark Brown about The New Mental Health
1. Mark, you've called this The New Mental Health - what are you hoping for from that choice of name?
I think that is often really difficult to discuss broader shifts in thinking without giving them a name. Giving something a name allows you to discuss what fits in under that name and what doesn't, who is doing it and who isn't, whether the name fits a particular thing or not. Without a name that brings things together what you get is lots and lots of disconnected things happening, with no way of bringing them together so that people can discuss them.
At the moment we have 'mental health' as a category that covers everything from forensic inpatient wards to national funded-to-the-tune-of-millions campaigns like Time to Change to you and a couple of mates sitting around your dining table trying to work out how to run a local advocacy or arts group. Beyond telling us who you're aiming at – people with mental health difficulties – it doesn't reallly tell us much else.
What I've noticed is that there has been a shift in mental health or at least a shift in the way some people look at doing 'mental health stuff'. See, we run into the problem of not having a name for things that means that 'mental health stuff' is the only way I can describe the wide variety of projects, activities and services that people are carrying out directed towards making life with mental health difficulties better or more fulfilling.
I started from recognising the broad similarities that I saw between these people, projects and services, because they're actually there. There has been a shift both on the part of some organisations and services and on the part of some people with mental health difficulties related mainly to two things: the idea of people with mental health difficulties actually being in control and in people with mental health difficulties not accepting the idea that only others can do things on their behalf to make life more viable and liveable.
From recognising what was already happening, it seemed sensible to give that a name as a way of bringing this shift together into a form that people could actually debate, discuss and put into action.
I think choosing a name like 'The New Mental Health' gives us a way to talk about this change by escaping from older ideas like the division between 'professionals' and 'people with mental health difficulties' or the idea that the only way to bring about mental health change is to become a campaigning activist.
So, instead of saying 'we're talking about lots of different projects and people across the country (and the world) that don't have a connection with each other' we can say 'we're talking about organisations, people and projects that we can recognise as sharing these New Mental Health ideas to a lesser or greater extent'. It opens up a space for discussion.
I think, more broadly, we're moving into a period where people have far greater access to ideas (Hello, Internet!). If you look at where large numbers of people are coming together to make stuff happen, they tend to be people choosing to arrange themselves around ideas rather than people joining organisations then being mobilised and regimented by hierarchies. The stress is less on whether people believe entirely the same things as each other (see things like the Tea Party movement on the US right of centre or UKUncut on the UK left of centre) and more on whether they can come together at specific times to do specific things.
Defining an idea and then setting that idea free lets other people come across it and use it as a way of understanding what they're already doing or as an inspiration to do something that they aren't already doing.
When you're doing things and making change happen, or wishing for change to happen, it can be hard to see where what you're doing fits in with what other people are doing.
I'm hoping that The New Mental Health will help people to see where others have been thinking similar thoughts to themselves about the next step for people with mental health difficulties taking control of our services and where people have already been doing just that.
To me, that seems like a pretty clear statement of what using the name can do.
2. Was launching this new approach in your mind before your strong speech in Perth, Australia?
Was there a flow of energy, in both directions, with writing the speech itself and gauging how people related to you and to you giving it?
The speech in Perth was really an attempt to distil about two years' worth of work, talking to people and thinking into one snappy easy-to-respond-to package.
A lot of the time, if you're suggesting anything a bit different in mental health you have the problem that no one will give you a public opportunity to speak about it until you've proved that what you're saying is useful, which obviously means that there aren't that many opportunities to get anything new out in public!
I originally pitched an article called 'The New Mental Health' to a magazine about two and half years ago where I'd already spotted the shifts in thinking and practice based on organisations and people I'd already met then doing mental health projects. Over 2011, I co-wrote 'Better mental health in a bigger society?', a pamphlet initially commissioned in the final months of the National Mental Health Development Unit, which came about from me trying to work out what 'Big Society' and austerity policies might mean for people with mental health difficulties and what non-NHS mental health services and projects might need to keep going through a period of public spending reduction.
So, the speech itself was the upshot of hundreds of conversations, much reading and lots of research and head scratching.
It went down fantastically in Perth. I hadn't quite realised what giving a keynote speech actually meant, so it was an amazingly odd experience to find myself addressing about 300 people, with three people after me giving speeches in response.
Two of those were psychiatrists and the third was a young woman who is a mental health worker who also hears voices. What was most heartening for me was that her speech started with the words 'that's exactly how I feel'.
After giving the speech, I went from conversation to conversation with people who wanted to tell me how they were making community-based mental health stuff happen and telling me that I'd definitely put my finger on something, namely the idea that traditionally run medical mental health services, in Western Australia at least, still held most of the power, but didn't manage to answer all of the problems.
What was also heartening was that a number of world-famous mental health campaigners told me that there was something about the idea of The New Mental Health and moving from an oppositional model to a pragmatic doing model was the right way forwards.
From talking to people in Western Australia, as I have with some people in the UK, I got the strong feeling that people were glad that someone had finally managed to bring together the threads of what they'd already been thinking and, importantly, doing.
3. Your magazine, One in Four, seems to distance itself from whether 'mental health difficulties' arise from - and are the field of - medicine by using those words.
For you, will that still be the preferred term in talking about The New Mental Health?
For me, if you're not providing actual medical services, the question of where mental health difficulties come from isn't as useful as 'what are we going to do today that makes it less shit having one?'
I think mental health difficulties is a good way of phrasing things because it escapes the trap of arguing about diagnosis and validity of diagnosis and just gets the nitty-gritty of 'do things exist that happen in our heads that get in the way of doing stuff?'
You can have difficulties with your mental health for years before you have a diagnosed condition and a diagnosis in a lot of ways is only a means by which you are allowed to access certain forms of support.
Even if we came up with a definitive 'cause' for mental health difficulties, that wouldn't reduce the challenges they can pose to getting on with your everyday life.
There are lots of vigorous and exciting debates to be had about the causes of mental health difficulties but they're not ones I have time to get involved in. Having lots of problems in your life, your living situation, your relationships and your economic circumstances might result from mental health difficulties or might be the cause of them, but that isn't as interesting to me as trying to do stuff that removes or reduces the effect of those problems.
4. Providers of services in 'old' mental health are usually hospital trusts, and, although separately set up, are part of the NHS.
Do you think that the NHS links bring with them a tendency towards being averse to risk or to a truly creative input into services from those who receive them?
I think you've put your finger on one of the fundamental challenges for anyone wanting different stuff to happen in mental health from what is already happening.
I think that the reduction and management of risk is absolutely vital in the provision of medical treatment. But I think that a lot of things that are done in mental health aren't actually medical, even if they are being provided by medically trained staff. There's a kind of weird idea that if you fall under the heading of 'someone with a mental health condition' then you need to be treated at all times as if you are a patient and somehow 'under the care' of mental health service providers.
One of the ideas agreed on by most people who like the social model of recovery in mental health – the idea that you don't necessarily just get cured by medical intervention – is that one of the important things about getting your life back is finding an identity that isn't defined by your condition. If this is correct, then it's a bit odd to think that services run on a medical model, that only have dealings with you because you are defined by a condition, could be the ones that best support you to think beyond that condition. In other words, it's a bit weird that the service that defines you as a service user will be the one that helps you not to think of yourself as a service user.
So what I see is a lot of non-medical services continuing to be delivered by medical-oriented thinking, which makes it very, very difficult to get them to try things that don't have a huge evidence base. It does happen, though, and sometimes the NHS does take brilliant risks. I’m
interested in how it decides to take them, who is involved and what happens because of them.
What I will say is that it's incredibly hard to get NHS commissioners to commission things that look different to things that have gone before because they aren't just thinking about risk in terms of people's welfare but also in terms of financial risk, too. Again there are places in the UK where great mental health stuff has been commissioned by trusts. The question is, I suppose, why some commissioners feel able to take risks and other don't?
5. Conversely, and maybe potentially, how might The New Mental Health differ, and what innovations in services and how, where and when they are available are likely?
I think The New Mental Health will look different in different places and for different people.
The New Mental Health spots gaps and then finds ways to fill them. What people in rural Cumbria need or want or are interested in setting up for themselves might be very different from what people want to do in Bristol. This is where the principles set out in the launch speech (available on the website : www.oneinfourmag.org) come into play. I think what we'll see is services that meet a specific need or which come about from a certain set of people having a certain set of interests.
The thing is: The New Mental Health is already here, it's just not evenly distributed yet.
Some result from the difficult demise of existing services who have had their funding cut. Others come into being to meet a particular gap in a particular area.
What they share is a proper partnership between people who have direct experience of mental health difficulty and those that don't and, I think, they'll be more likely to find ways doing either new things that are different from traditional services or new ways of doing things that services have been doing in the past.
They might even have been doing The New Mental Health for decades without anyone really noticing.
I think you get a very different answer if you ask the question 'What do you need?' rather than 'What do you think of our existing service?' I think what we'll see is more projects based on what people with mental health difficulties want to do and more that actually try to solve some of the real-life problems and challenges that we face. Direct experience gives you a very different perspective on what the needs of people with mental health difficulties actually are, doesn't it?
I believe that it does (even if some organizations do exploit being able to say that they have that perspective, without actually allowing the people with that perspective to influence how things are run in any significant way).
6. Other than money, and enthusiastic participants, what else do you think
that The New Mental Health will need to thrive?
I think one of the things that is needed for The New Mental Health to move forwards is an active and equal partnership between people who have experienced mental health difficulties and those trying to do stuff that helps.
I think there's more people who are in both categories at once then there ever have been before.
This is where pragmatism rather than opposition comes in – we need a strategic and practical relationship between people who want to make having a mental health difficulty less challenging and awful, regardless of where they come from on the professional/patient/policy maker axis. I think a coalition of people who work in mental health services and people who don't but who all agree that what we have now isn’t quite right and ask 'why can't we have something else?' is vital.
In The New Mental Health, people and knowledge are the biggest assets. There are currently so many people in the public sector who have brilliant ideas and are fed up with doing the same old stuff that they know isn't really working. Similarly, there are so many people slugging it out in the community with brilliant ideas and who are struggling from day to day for money and resources. If we can come together and ask 'why can't we do something else instead?' then we'll be a strong force to reckon with.
One of the things that will need to happen is people being prepared to just give things a go – the principle of FIJD – with the leanest way of doing so. So people will need to be starting small and cheap and making things happen with what's to hand. But there will need to be more money available to be risked on just giving things a go. The biggest danger is that sources of funding will continue their move away from looking at ways to make things happen in different ways or with different people and just get funnelled toward front-line medical services aimed at more severe instances of mental health difficulty. As this will reduce the cash available to things that might make it less likely that someone becomes severely ill over a long period of times it risks constituting a self-confirming situation.
It's an uncomfortable fact that for The New Mental Health to happen for everyone who wants it there's going to need to be money. At the moment the NHS gets the huge amount of mental health money. For new things to happen, the NHS is going to have to decide to spend some of its money on things that are different from what has come before, so in some senses it's going to have to 'step aside' and recognise there there are lots of mental-health-related things that it is not best placed to provide.
7. Do you also expect any opposition from entrenched old approaches, and, if so, do you yet know how to challenge it?
I think The New Mental Health has always been in thorny territory with this. For a long time, we've had the conception of mental health in the UK as being on one side people who use services and on the other side organisations that provide them. The belief has been that the traditionally funded public sector staffed by traditionally trained professionals is the only way to provide mental-health-related services. In some ways, this is true; medically trained staff are the best people to provide medical services. However, it's also true that more people with direct experience of mental health difficulties now work in mental health already, so even that division is gradually breaking down.
What we have been seeing is a growth in different kinds of services and different kinds of organisation outside of those medical services. This is challenging.
It's challenging to campaigners who see the role of the mental health voluntary sector as being, in part, to campaign for the improvement of publicly funded services. Someone once asked me: 'why would you campaign to keep bad services?'. I think, often, because we're afraid that any loss of services will not be replaced with something else, we can work very hard to try to keep a hold of services that we don't, in fact, find useful or which don't fit with our wishes and ideas. Suggesting that the answer might be to create alternatives is hugely challenging, I think, even if people have based all of their activities on opposing worst aspects of existing mental health services.
It can be very challenging for some already involved in delivering mental health services because people doing The New Mental Health ask the question very directly 'is your service the best way to meet this need?'.
I think it's really challenging to a lot of people because it asks 'what do people with mental health difficulties want and need?' rather than 'how can we modify what's there to bring it more in line with the changing wishes and needs of people with mental health difficulties?'.
I also think it can be a little bit challenging for people in general when we're used to 'take what you're given and think yourself lucky' services.
8. Yes, the dreaded question, but let's make it three years: what do you believe the place of The New Mental Health will be in providing services by then, and why?
I think it can sometimes be really hard to see mental health services as anything other than what we have at the moment. Often when we think about the future of mental health services, we think of the future as being the services we have more, but run by different people or run in slightly different ways. When we look toward the future it always seems to look more like now than it does like anything else.
Three years will take us up to the next general election. Make no mistake, there will be changes to mental health services by then. For many of us they're already happening with cuts to local charities and voluntary organisations reducing the amount of stuff that's available in our communities. Add to that changes in the way that the NHS is run and what we're looking at is going to be different, at least on the level that there might be less of it.
What there is will probably be quite like what we have now, I think. There'll still be hospitals, crisis teams, community psychiatric nurses, and all of the other things that we recognise as 'mental health services'. And, the chances are, they way in which they are provided will probably look much like the way they're provided now.
What a lot of us have wanted in mental health for ages is more choice about what services we use to help us and more control over what those services actually are.
I see The New Mental Health helping to fill that gap. What I see is lots of little projects, organisations and even social enterprises across the country providing good mental health stuff that people actually want in ways that they actually want them.
I think the nature of The New Mental Health is to be pragmatic and to find gaps in what is already available or new ways of doing things that people want. This, for me at least, suggests that The New Mental Health will be about starting small but thinking big.
I think what we'll see is people giving things a go and trying to make them work and other people recognising that a small thing that helps a small thing might find out something that might be the basis of making a big thing that helps a lot of people.
If we are going to see increasing pressure on traditional mental health services, I want to see as many other things as possible to help people with mental health difficulties get on with what they want and need to do.
Some things will succeed and grow, others will find their natural level and other things will fail with good grace and good honour.
If you subscribe to the idea that only medical services can provide the answer to challenges that people with mental health difficulties face, then you're never going to be happy with anything less than total medical coverage. I'd suggest that medical services are good at providing medical care and treatment, a vital element to be sure, but not the entire story. I'd comment that, very often, medical mental health services just aren't that good at helping with the challenges that you have in your life or with the things that you want to do. They have waiting-lists, they're difficult to contact, they see everything through the prism of your condition. Not all do this, but the ones that don't often recognise that there are limits to what they can do and look to people and organisations outside of themselves to provide additional support and services.
I think that The New Mental Health, that is organisations and groups led by people with mental health difficulties, will be providing those outside services in some places.
In some senses, I think the people doing things that could be called The New Mental Health now are laying the foundations for a fundamental shift in the way that we think about mental health, because they're the first professional generation to completely reject the idea that having a mental health difficulty will always lead to you being inferior to someone who does not have one.
I also think that, in some ways, the organisations and groups of people trying to do things now with limited resources and by meeting the wishes of people with mental health difficulties more closely are doing the job of keeping the flame of hope going and also laying the ground for a shift in the way we do services.
People in the voluntary sector often complain that they are filling in for the public sector where the public sector isn't providing services or where services don't work properly, but that's exactly where I think The New Mental Health flourishes.
I think, at least in some areas of England at least, we'll see the public sector recognising that this isn’t a nice optional add-on, but a valuable contributing force in helping to make sure that people's mental health difficulties don't completely interrupt or de-rail their lives.
9. Finally, what message have you, both for those excited by The New Mental Health, and for the sceptically minded, who might be mindful of the tale of the monarch and his fresh wardrobe?
I think that thing about the New Mental Health is that it's just putting a name to a shift that's already happening and spotting some common themes and common concerns.
I think that, in some ways, the brilliant stuff that has been happening that has put people with mental health difficulties in control of services, and the brilliant stuff people have been doing to develop services and projects for ourselves, is being put at risk hugely in the current policy and economic environment.
The thing is, The New Mental Health, and this is why it's 'new', doesn't quite fit with either the traditional models of service delivery, or the traditional campaigning quality of other mental health organisations. Nor does it naturally fit well with the agenda of larger charities. Coupled with the fact that, without a natural 'home', people are often working away in isolation, ploughing their own lonely furrow, individual projects, organisations and people who make things happen are really vulnerable to wider forces.
The people already doing The New Mental Health run the risk of being washed away, almost before it's started. If The New Mental Health can be a way of bringing those people into contact with each other while being able to advocate for the vital nature of what they're doing, especially to those that have some money to invest, who can provide support or who can find ways of working with them, then it'll be doing what it's meant to.
If that helps people to feel less like they're soldiering on in the darkness, in isolation, then it'll have served its purpose.
Thanks to Mark Brown, Editor of One in Four magazine, for answering those questions and giving a full measure in doing so - it is good to end on an honest note of encouragement for those who can support, by no means just financially, people just getting to know each other, what is going on elsewhere, and maybe learning what helped them when the situation that they faced was grim!
If you want to leave a comment here, please do, and I will pass it on to One in Four, but I am sure that Mark would welcome receiving your enthusiasm about this interview directly, after he spent time giving what I found very clear and instructive answers to some difficult questions.
For those who haven't yet read his keynote speech at the Asia Pacific Conference on Mental Health (in Perth, Western Australia) last month, here is another link to it.
And, if you want to read through the questions in this mammoth session on their own, they can be found here...
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Thursday, 19 July 2012
Things that art keeps secret from me... (2)
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20 July
Continued from Things that art keeps secret from me... (1)(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)
20 July
With the ten Medicine Cabinets (1989), as with Pharmacy (1992), if you know what the former contents of the packets, bottles and pill-boxes were used for, there is no pharmaceutical rationale behind how they have been arranged: for example, three different styles of labelling of Senokot bottles (god, E.M.I. and Anarchy), and two of Gaviscon, (Seventeen and E.M.I.), appear in unrelated cabinets (each one named, in order, after the tracks of the Sex Pistols' album Never Mind the Bollocks... .).
For all that is said about Hirst’s curatorship, the fact that an anti-psychotic or an anti-depressant is seen side by side with something quite unrelated such as a pain-killer leads me believe that it is the aesthetic appearance that has influenced the arrangement within the display-units. (This cannot as easily be seen from what the Tate’s catalogue features for Pharmacy, as it does it a relative disservice in depicting it, compared with the earlier works.) The lower shelf of Seventeen, at the right, contains a whole jumble, and, at the far left, a big brown glass bottle obscured by an item in front (as in other cabinets, e.g. No Feelings, Pretty Vacant and Bodies).
If then, as with Lullaby, the Seasons (2002), it is the overall effect that it is important, not the pills, tablets and capsules themselves, but their effect against their mirrored background, then anyone looking at these old containers of medication without thinking how they have been put on the shelf is missing a major element.
But what do people who profess to like Hirst's work see when they look at such things? No one seems to look at the so-called spot paintings (I have been to the show severeal times), and people seem to wander around the spaces created by Pharmacy (1992), and by the Medicine Cabinets (1989) as if what is there is a reverential re-creation of a curated store for medication.
But, if so, what are the four bowls with honeycomb and honey, each on top of a podium of a kind intended for reaching things down from upper shelves?
Do they normally occupy the otherwise placid evocation of a pharmacy, complete with those four sinuous vessels full, each one, of a coloured liquid? (Which one looks most like it would be fun to drink?)
It's normal in this installation, because it was previously so at Tate Britain, something about the self-styled Young British Artists (how young is young, Damien?).
Things that art keeps secret from me... (1)
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20 July
With reference to Damien Hirst's exhibition at the Tate* (not an exhaustive list):
* A dozen or so of these so-called spot paintings exist, and I think that the claim is that they are all on the walls of TM
* Their titles, as TM has a mania for keeping them separated far right or far left with a long line of works in between, can therefore no longer be the jokes that Hirst must have intended for them
* For example: the link for Anthraquinonone-1-Diazonium Chloride takes you to the actual and relatively modest compound, supposedly depicted in a fairly large canvas of some 35 of these circles by 25
* Artistic uncomposition no. 7 is, perhaps, just as meaningful, but, if people could easily see these titles (rather than shuttling to the end of the room and back), would they make people believe that, in colour, Hirst has portrayed a chemical structure? (Not, I suspect, anyone who knew even a bit about chemistry...)
* And, with the two that are painted onto the wall of Rooms 2 and 3 of TM, what is their status? Do they cease to exist when scrubbed off to make room for the next show - and do we believe that, if there is a known design for them, Hirst himself painted all of the circles, and that, until he does so again (somewhere else) they won't exist?
* I call them 'circles', because they are circles, and often too big to be spots
* It is also not an illusion - the cicles are not 'equal to the size of the spaces between each [circle]'**, but the inter-circle spaces are often appreciably bigger
* Not to mention Iodomethane - 13c, foolishly represented by a fold-out in the catalogue, when the original must be around 15 metres long, with many a circle, and no meaningful connection (unless Hirst was high on this substance during its creation) with the scale of the painting
* The room steward whom I asked, although very friendly and helpful, had to suggest asking the curators by filling in a form: had it been Hirst's intention, I wondered, to ensure that - because the dissected cow in her two halves was in the way - it was not possible to see the whole painting, except by standing at either end and looking across, which then introduced effects of patterning caused by bunching, the nearer that the circles were to the other end
Continued in Things that art keep secret from me... (2)
End-notes
* Or, rather, the exhibition at Tate Modern of works by DH.
** Circles separated by a distance equal to their circumference.
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(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)
20 July
With reference to Damien Hirst's exhibition at the Tate* (not an exhaustive list):
* A dozen or so of these so-called spot paintings exist, and I think that the claim is that they are all on the walls of TM
* Their titles, as TM has a mania for keeping them separated far right or far left with a long line of works in between, can therefore no longer be the jokes that Hirst must have intended for them
* For example: the link for Anthraquinonone-1-Diazonium Chloride takes you to the actual and relatively modest compound, supposedly depicted in a fairly large canvas of some 35 of these circles by 25
* Artistic uncomposition no. 7 is, perhaps, just as meaningful, but, if people could easily see these titles (rather than shuttling to the end of the room and back), would they make people believe that, in colour, Hirst has portrayed a chemical structure? (Not, I suspect, anyone who knew even a bit about chemistry...)
* And, with the two that are painted onto the wall of Rooms 2 and 3 of TM, what is their status? Do they cease to exist when scrubbed off to make room for the next show - and do we believe that, if there is a known design for them, Hirst himself painted all of the circles, and that, until he does so again (somewhere else) they won't exist?
* I call them 'circles', because they are circles, and often too big to be spots
* It is also not an illusion - the cicles are not 'equal to the size of the spaces between each [circle]'**, but the inter-circle spaces are often appreciably bigger
* Not to mention Iodomethane - 13c, foolishly represented by a fold-out in the catalogue, when the original must be around 15 metres long, with many a circle, and no meaningful connection (unless Hirst was high on this substance during its creation) with the scale of the painting
* The room steward whom I asked, although very friendly and helpful, had to suggest asking the curators by filling in a form: had it been Hirst's intention, I wondered, to ensure that - because the dissected cow in her two halves was in the way - it was not possible to see the whole painting, except by standing at either end and looking across, which then introduced effects of patterning caused by bunching, the nearer that the circles were to the other end
Continued in Things that art keep secret from me... (2)
End-notes
* Or, rather, the exhibition at Tate Modern of works by DH.
** Circles separated by a distance equal to their circumference.
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Wednesday, 18 July 2012
A poem - in parts - on Pritter
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18 July
This poem...
This poem is the work of Abbott,
Adams, Davies and O'Neill
More people's time it took to write
Who were with us, up all night,
The metre was Brian O'Brien's
(The man they fed to the lions)
This poem is not about socialism,
Fascism or communism - or any
Combination of the three
Expand? No, contract!
© Copywright Belston Night Works 2012
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18 July
This poem...
This poem is the work of Abbott,
Adams, Davies and O'Neill
More people's time it took to write
Who were with us, up all night,
The metre was Brian O'Brien's
(The man they fed to the lions)
This poem is not about socialism,
Fascism or communism - or any
Combination of the three
Expand? No, contract!
© Copywright Belston Night Works 2012
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Monday, 16 July 2012
Performance anxiety
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17 July
These words are sometimes thought of in another connection.
In the context of Richard Sennett's lecture at The Aldeburgh Festival, although he did not ever seem to suggest (in addressing his topic) how a well-designed place for the performance of music or theatre could lessen it, it meant the fear on the part of either some of the performers or members of the audience that something would go wrong with the performance, a necessarily inhibiting feeling.
When listening to The Menuhin School Orchestra play Mendelssohn's Sinfonia No. 1, the fears were lesser than when they started to play the more rhythmically and dynamically varied Apollon musagète by Igor Stravinsky, but they need not have been present in either case: the pupils' musicianship, as conducted by Malcolm Singer, never appeared to be in doubt, and they brought off this second work to great acclaim.
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(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)
17 July
These words are sometimes thought of in another connection.
In the context of Richard Sennett's lecture at The Aldeburgh Festival, although he did not ever seem to suggest (in addressing his topic) how a well-designed place for the performance of music or theatre could lessen it, it meant the fear on the part of either some of the performers or members of the audience that something would go wrong with the performance, a necessarily inhibiting feeling.
When listening to The Menuhin School Orchestra play Mendelssohn's Sinfonia No. 1, the fears were lesser than when they started to play the more rhythmically and dynamically varied Apollon musagète by Igor Stravinsky, but they need not have been present in either case: the pupils' musicianship, as conducted by Malcolm Singer, never appeared to be in doubt, and they brought off this second work to great acclaim.
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Saturday, 14 July 2012
Watch out for Louisa-Rose Staples ! : A report from Thaxted Festival 2012
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14 July (revised 13 April 2023)
Malcolm Singer, who introduced the performance by The Yehudi Menuhin School Orchestra of the so-called Four Seasons (one violin soloist per season), told me afterwards that each player had had the Concerto in question allocated to him or her – it had not been, as I imagined, a selection made between the younger musicians themselves, and, as Malcolm was at pains to stress, there had been group work by the orchestra and the teachers, as well as by him, in shaping what we heard for each season.
That said, the allocation had been, as he suggested, on the basis of what would suit the individual violinist, and the result, in this first half, was a varied quartet of Concerti, whose character had not just been directed by an unchanging soloist. (A contrast, for me, with Adrian Chandler giving a unified performance with La Serenissima, this work’s last outing.)
Quite a clever approach, because, although we all know that recordings of this famous 'work' (considering it as a whole*) differ enormously, we do not think, say, to mix and match Mutter’s Spring with Heifetz’s Summer, and so on. We were asked to applaud each departing soloist, and greet the new one, with all four taking to the stage at the end. To hear the same string orchestra (plus harpsichord) sound so differently nicely brought out the instrumentalists’ adaptability as an ensemble, as well the variation that came from each soloist’s interpretation.
Although there was not one of the soloists whom I did not enjoy hearing, I have singled out Louisa-Rose Staples, because she played the second Concerto (Summer) with great poise, and, though I might have guessed from her stature that she was the youngest (she was born in 2000), it was not evident from the expressiveness of her violin-playing : it gave me shudders down the spine, because her tone was so good, and she phrased everything so well.
Otoha Tabata, playing Spring, seemed more integrated into the sound of the orchestra, to be emerging from it and then falling back into it, than Tanja Roos, who, as Winter, came last : Tanja seemed to make more of her Concerto as a virtuoso piece, and to feel apart from the rest of the texture, whereas Otoha used her fluency and technique within a different range. With such relatively new performers, although many of them have been playing since three, it is necessarily hard to know how much was direction from Malcolm and the other staff.
For example, the well-known opening of Winter (I believe that I am thinking of Winter, not Autumn) had a spiky angularity to the orchestral string-playing, which I do not recall having heard before, and which transformed not only the impression, but how the notes within the chords appeared to interrelate. In Autumn, which Sao Soulez-Lariviere seemed to have moulded into another different sound-world, not least in a central movement in a quite slow tempo, it was the overall shape of the Concerto that was laid bare, in a way that many a recording might not dare to do.
I have no idea what is ahead of all of these musicians (we had the benefit of four double-basses, and there must be competition), but, if she maintains her self-assurance as a performer with age and puberty, I would still tip Louisa-Rose Staples as a star for the future, though not to suggest that her fellow soloists might not be ones, too.
End-notes :
* The Concerti were, at least, published as a set of twelve - others will know better by far about the history of performance-prcatice.
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Watch out for Louisa-Rose Staples ! : A report from Thaxted Festival 2012
14 July (revised 13 April 2023)
Watch out for Louisa-Rose Staples ! : A report from Thaxted Festival 2012
Malcolm Singer, who introduced the performance by The Yehudi Menuhin School Orchestra of the so-called Four Seasons (one violin soloist per season), told me afterwards that each player had had the Concerto in question allocated to him or her – it had not been, as I imagined, a selection made between the younger musicians themselves, and, as Malcolm was at pains to stress, there had been group work by the orchestra and the teachers, as well as by him, in shaping what we heard for each season.
That said, the allocation had been, as he suggested, on the basis of what would suit the individual violinist, and the result, in this first half, was a varied quartet of Concerti, whose character had not just been directed by an unchanging soloist. (A contrast, for me, with Adrian Chandler giving a unified performance with La Serenissima, this work’s last outing.)
Quite a clever approach, because, although we all know that recordings of this famous 'work' (considering it as a whole*) differ enormously, we do not think, say, to mix and match Mutter’s Spring with Heifetz’s Summer, and so on. We were asked to applaud each departing soloist, and greet the new one, with all four taking to the stage at the end. To hear the same string orchestra (plus harpsichord) sound so differently nicely brought out the instrumentalists’ adaptability as an ensemble, as well the variation that came from each soloist’s interpretation.
Although there was not one of the soloists whom I did not enjoy hearing, I have singled out Louisa-Rose Staples, because she played the second Concerto (Summer) with great poise, and, though I might have guessed from her stature that she was the youngest (she was born in 2000), it was not evident from the expressiveness of her violin-playing : it gave me shudders down the spine, because her tone was so good, and she phrased everything so well.
Otoha Tabata, playing Spring, seemed more integrated into the sound of the orchestra, to be emerging from it and then falling back into it, than Tanja Roos, who, as Winter, came last : Tanja seemed to make more of her Concerto as a virtuoso piece, and to feel apart from the rest of the texture, whereas Otoha used her fluency and technique within a different range. With such relatively new performers, although many of them have been playing since three, it is necessarily hard to know how much was direction from Malcolm and the other staff.
For example, the well-known opening of Winter (I believe that I am thinking of Winter, not Autumn) had a spiky angularity to the orchestral string-playing, which I do not recall having heard before, and which transformed not only the impression, but how the notes within the chords appeared to interrelate. In Autumn, which Sao Soulez-Lariviere seemed to have moulded into another different sound-world, not least in a central movement in a quite slow tempo, it was the overall shape of the Concerto that was laid bare, in a way that many a recording might not dare to do.
I have no idea what is ahead of all of these musicians (we had the benefit of four double-basses, and there must be competition), but, if she maintains her self-assurance as a performer with age and puberty, I would still tip Louisa-Rose Staples as a star for the future, though not to suggest that her fellow soloists might not be ones, too.
End-notes :
* The Concerti were, at least, published as a set of twelve - others will know better by far about the history of performance-prcatice.
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Friday, 13 July 2012
Poem for a Vixen
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13 July
Poem for a Vixen
Regarding IKEA
(Not a native Idea),
I have some respect.
But I choose to reject
Going out on a date
Mixed with humping a crate.
© Belston Night Works 2012
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13 July
Poem for a Vixen
Regarding IKEA
(Not a native Idea),
I have some respect.
But I choose to reject
Going out on a date
Mixed with humping a crate.
© Belston Night Works 2012
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Tuesday, 10 July 2012
Music in London in the eighteenth century
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11 July
Thanks to talking to Nia Lewis, one of the Compagnia d'Istrumenti (who direct the University of York Baroque Ensemble), I now have a greater understanding of the potential for gut-strings to react to atmospheric influences during the course of a piece. As she observed, professional players are more used to the problem, and can more easily adjust for it.
This factor may momentarily have caught out some of the members of the ensemble, but, despite it, they did a very good job of creating a distinctive sound for each of the five composers whose music they featured in their hour-long programme. So, for example, the Symphony by William Boyce with which they opened was not only played very confidently, and with a solid bass-line*, but also sounded to be in its own world, a contrast with the different, and more extrovert, one of the Concerto Grosso by Handel that followed.
That ability is not something to be underestimated, as there are groups who are prone to bring everything down to the lowest common demoninator, so that what pieces have in common, rather than what sets them apart, comes to the fore. Then, everything tends to sound pretty much the same, and does not have its particular life - and joy (or sorrow).
In the Handel, the divided strings (led, respectively, by Daniel Edgar and Nia Lewis) brought the antiphonal nature of this music vividly into both visual and aural appreciation, and the programme notes (by Nia) usefully drew attention to Corelli's influence on the structure of the work. One could also believe that Handel, when in Italy, had learnt something significant from hearing music in St Mark's Basilica, and there was a real depth of feeling in the playing in this Concerto.
Nothing to do with the performance, but I am uncertain whether choosing a selection from King Arthur necessarily showed Henry Purcell to his best effect, but there were, of course, the limitations of a one-hour concert (rather than, say, two halves of forty-five minutes). Nevertheless, I particularly enjoyed the closing Chaconne, and was left wanting to hear more of Purcell's compositional intricacies.
The so-called London Bach, J. C., was amply represented by a Grand Overture, with strong forces in both parts of a double orchestra, twin flutes on one side (with the second violins), and a pair of oboeists with the first violins.
If my memory serves me correctly, there were also two horns in this piece, and, at times, their effect was reminiscent of the rich tones that Mr Handel has in the three Suites that make up his Water Music. As Nia observed in the programme, this member of the Bach dynasty favoured a 'steady harmonic rhythm', and the Ensemble, once again, brought out the individual colours and textures of his music.
We ended - and there would not have been time for more - with a piece by Arne that had, in a little act of disguise, been described as A Rousing Tune. And so was brought to a close an enjoyable time with these very good young musicians, showing the ensemble technique that, one hopes, may stand them in good stead, wherever the future gives them opportunities to make music.
End-notes
* Provided by instruments from double bass (Vanessa McWilliam) to cellos (Tim Smedley and Lucy Curzon), and, though I wouldn't now swear as to their involvement at this stage in the concert, bassoons (Ian Hoggart and Elspeth Piggott). (Other important textures were provided by Andrew Passmore and Masumi Yamamoto, both on harpsichord.)
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11 July
Thanks to talking to Nia Lewis, one of the Compagnia d'Istrumenti (who direct the University of York Baroque Ensemble), I now have a greater understanding of the potential for gut-strings to react to atmospheric influences during the course of a piece. As she observed, professional players are more used to the problem, and can more easily adjust for it.
This factor may momentarily have caught out some of the members of the ensemble, but, despite it, they did a very good job of creating a distinctive sound for each of the five composers whose music they featured in their hour-long programme. So, for example, the Symphony by William Boyce with which they opened was not only played very confidently, and with a solid bass-line*, but also sounded to be in its own world, a contrast with the different, and more extrovert, one of the Concerto Grosso by Handel that followed.
That ability is not something to be underestimated, as there are groups who are prone to bring everything down to the lowest common demoninator, so that what pieces have in common, rather than what sets them apart, comes to the fore. Then, everything tends to sound pretty much the same, and does not have its particular life - and joy (or sorrow).
In the Handel, the divided strings (led, respectively, by Daniel Edgar and Nia Lewis) brought the antiphonal nature of this music vividly into both visual and aural appreciation, and the programme notes (by Nia) usefully drew attention to Corelli's influence on the structure of the work. One could also believe that Handel, when in Italy, had learnt something significant from hearing music in St Mark's Basilica, and there was a real depth of feeling in the playing in this Concerto.
Nothing to do with the performance, but I am uncertain whether choosing a selection from King Arthur necessarily showed Henry Purcell to his best effect, but there were, of course, the limitations of a one-hour concert (rather than, say, two halves of forty-five minutes). Nevertheless, I particularly enjoyed the closing Chaconne, and was left wanting to hear more of Purcell's compositional intricacies.
The so-called London Bach, J. C., was amply represented by a Grand Overture, with strong forces in both parts of a double orchestra, twin flutes on one side (with the second violins), and a pair of oboeists with the first violins.
If my memory serves me correctly, there were also two horns in this piece, and, at times, their effect was reminiscent of the rich tones that Mr Handel has in the three Suites that make up his Water Music. As Nia observed in the programme, this member of the Bach dynasty favoured a 'steady harmonic rhythm', and the Ensemble, once again, brought out the individual colours and textures of his music.
We ended - and there would not have been time for more - with a piece by Arne that had, in a little act of disguise, been described as A Rousing Tune. And so was brought to a close an enjoyable time with these very good young musicians, showing the ensemble technique that, one hopes, may stand them in good stead, wherever the future gives them opportunities to make music.
End-notes
* Provided by instruments from double bass (Vanessa McWilliam) to cellos (Tim Smedley and Lucy Curzon), and, though I wouldn't now swear as to their involvement at this stage in the concert, bassoons (Ian Hoggart and Elspeth Piggott). (Other important textures were provided by Andrew Passmore and Masumi Yamamoto, both on harpsichord.)
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Sunday, 8 July 2012
Another The Hunter
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9 July
* Contains spoilers *
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9 July
* Contains spoilers *
This is one with Willem Dafoe, not Rafi Pitts (The Hunter (2010)), though there may be similarities.
We are shown, early on, that Dafoe's character, Martin David, is supposed to have traits of what is understood in film circles (e.g. As Good as it Gets (1997)) to be OCD. (I know someone about whom another thought that the acronym stood for her Obsessive Cleaning Disorder.) Thankfully, by now, Channel 4 - in its Channel 4 Goes Mad season - might have cleared that up.
Therefore we should not be surprised that, when he flies to Hobart and arrives at his base for his mission (the chaotic home of Lucy (Frances O'Connor) and her two children, near the settlement of Cascade), he is horrified by the state of the bath - and, suitably armed from the stores, blitzes it with feeling.
Moment of truth: As if Martin would choose to work where, all over the world, he is roughing it in the wild and not have come across similar squalor in the bases with which he is provided, but perhaps not have had any readily available means of clearing it up. (The novel from which this is taken might have explained, but it was written by Julia Leigh, the same Leigh who brought us what, for me, was a sterile experience in Sleeping Beauty (2011)...)
What is almost better is that the way in which the film is directed, much of the time, fails to spell things out (the link with The Hunter (2010)) , but then it does feel it necessary to leave hefty clues in mental-health territory (and this is a film all about Territory, a redeeming feature):
For example, an unmissable packet of Xanax on Lucy's bedside table, or her later* telling Martin about her missing husband's busy mental-life, and that she believed that her husband believed in what he was frightened of. That in addition to what we have been shown about a neurotically fastidious Martin, and the unspeaking Jamie** (Finn Woodlock), who, for some reason, was silent in the language of words, but not really (more later, when he does talk).
That said, Lucy's daughter, Katie (Sass, at just one point, but credited under that name by IMDb, and played energetically by Morgana Davies) and Jamie / Bike have informed Martin that there is an outside dunny, so God knows how he ever does deal with that! For he is shown, when first entering the bar (after the shock of the house and then seeking a room there instead), going there to use the toilet, but being required to pay for the first of two non-thirst-quenching drinks, which is so because he is greeted by the logger rednecks, champing to bulldoze down the forest.
That said, Lucy's daughter, Katie (Sass, at just one point, but credited under that name by IMDb, and played energetically by Morgana Davies) and Jamie / Bike have informed Martin that there is an outside dunny, so God knows how he ever does deal with that! For he is shown, when first entering the bar (after the shock of the house and then seeking a room there instead), going there to use the toilet, but being required to pay for the first of two non-thirst-quenching drinks, which is so because he is greeted by the logger rednecks, champing to bulldoze down the forest.
Whatever Martin does to satisfy his bodily needs, during and between his twelve-day forays (in the latter times, he returns to Julia’s house (bungalow?). Katie and Jamie initially encounter Martin when he has just opened the door of Julia’s room, and found her prone and asleep: at this moment, because of the time of day, it is clear enough that this is going to turn out to be the sleep of escape, and that Julia will be experiencing some mental-health issue.
They then regularly walk into his room without knocking, call his choral or operatic choices of music shouting, and nose around and ask questions. Love at first sight, in another moment of truth, as Martin comes to value Julia's family and family life. The fastidiousness seems somehow gone (submerged?), and we are meant to view this hardened loner as softened up - a Damascus moment, which informs the rest of the trajectory, but without any obvious road to it, or, otherwise put, any impelling reason to think that any of this can really be new, unlessgenuinely the scales have dropped.
This film, to be palatable, does rely heavily on the very well-done cinematography of beautiful landscapes, which distract us from the fact that we are otherwise just in Tasmanian forest and wilderness with Dafoe, and the little that he really gets up to is honestly not all that interesting (possibly because, unlike Bear Grylls, pretending to be alone, and telling us what 'you would' do, if you chose to be in the ridiculous scrapes with which he is involved, he has no need to tell anyone why he sets this or that trap, etc.).
Early on, he shoots a kangaroo, but doing so turns out not to be for food, however, as he throws the carcass away, and we then see what I took to be two of the Tasmanian Devils - which he is supposedly there, as his cover story, to study - eating it. Maybe he wanted them to eat that meat rather than his. (Later, we see him bait traps with parts of the organs from when he gutted the creature.) Somehow, though, the disparate acts do not match one's notion of a man surviving in the wild by his own wits - for all the haunted looks and stalking around, it was as if some alienation effect deliberately brought me back to the fact that this was Willem, not Martin.
As to Dafoe eating, we have a moment or two of him consuming something unidentifiable from a billy-can, but only forty minutes in. We know, actually, very little about his eating other than in one meal cooked by Julia, and one seemingly cooked by him, and it is not possible to say what he eats of what is on his plate. It is also not that he does not drink, as he twice orders non-beneficial beer (and it is impossible to say why he braves the loggers again to order the second one, except to set up a confrontation), but he refuses the Shiraz that Julia offers, and Katie says that Martin drinks tea.
All in all, for all that his principal, Redleaf (too much like red bush?), is made out to seem shadowy, what Martin does all the time seems patently mercenary, and Redleaf seems no more like a player behind the scenes than he a hunter than what he is searching for real. Again, all at a remove - maybe a clever remove, because, with Leigh's direction (and screenplay), I was bored to tears, but that is belied by sentimentality (not leastleading to and at the end):
Yes, predictably, Martin has one of those moments of hesitation. Unfortunately, because (in the implausible way in which such plots all too often unfold) he is (really for the first time, like Tom Baker in Genesis of the Daleks?), at the age of 55+, in a situation where he can no longer believe in what he has been hired to do...
This film, to be palatable, does rely heavily on the very well-done cinematography of beautiful landscapes, which distract us from the fact that we are otherwise just in Tasmanian forest and wilderness with Dafoe, and the little that he really gets up to is honestly not all that interesting (possibly because, unlike Bear Grylls, pretending to be alone, and telling us what 'you would' do, if you chose to be in the ridiculous scrapes with which he is involved, he has no need to tell anyone why he sets this or that trap, etc.).
Early on, he shoots a kangaroo, but doing so turns out not to be for food, however, as he throws the carcass away, and we then see what I took to be two of the Tasmanian Devils - which he is supposedly there, as his cover story, to study - eating it. Maybe he wanted them to eat that meat rather than his. (Later, we see him bait traps with parts of the organs from when he gutted the creature.) Somehow, though, the disparate acts do not match one's notion of a man surviving in the wild by his own wits - for all the haunted looks and stalking around, it was as if some alienation effect deliberately brought me back to the fact that this was Willem, not Martin.
As to Dafoe eating, we have a moment or two of him consuming something unidentifiable from a billy-can, but only forty minutes in. We know, actually, very little about his eating other than in one meal cooked by Julia, and one seemingly cooked by him, and it is not possible to say what he eats of what is on his plate. It is also not that he does not drink, as he twice orders non-beneficial beer (and it is impossible to say why he braves the loggers again to order the second one, except to set up a confrontation), but he refuses the Shiraz that Julia offers, and Katie says that Martin drinks tea.
All in all, for all that his principal, Redleaf (too much like red bush?), is made out to seem shadowy, what Martin does all the time seems patently mercenary, and Redleaf seems no more like a player behind the scenes than he a hunter than what he is searching for real. Again, all at a remove - maybe a clever remove, because, with Leigh's direction (and screenplay), I was bored to tears, but that is belied by sentimentality (not leastleading to and at the end):
Yes, predictably, Martin has one of those moments of hesitation. Unfortunately, because (in the implausible way in which such plots all too often unfold) he is (really for the first time, like Tom Baker in Genesis of the Daleks?), at the age of 55+, in a situation where he can no longer believe in what he has been hired to do...
Watch out for a blue flask and see it, if you can, as a totem, a sacramental vessel, a memory, but maybe just another bright visual cliché (you know the sort, if you try), which is actually a rather lazy linkage, meant to tie things up when the corresponding facts suggest more a Drive-type You can run, but you can't hide! form of resolution.
End-notes
* When Martin has cured her by the expedient (he's just off hunting again for the best part of two weeks) of instructing the children that she does not need this (and two other pill-boxes, whose contents remain unknown, but, just possibly, a sleeping tablet)).
** Or is his 'real' name Bike, as the credits suggest?
Noticed in York
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9 July
NOTICE
1. The drinking of Geneva & other liquors has destroyed thousands of His Majesty’s subjects.
2. Great numbers of others are by its use rendered unfit for useful labour[,] debauched in morals and drawn into all manner of vices and wickedness.
3. The selling of such liquors shall be restrained to people keeping coffee houses[,] ale houses and inn keepers.
1817 H. M Govt.
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9 July
NOTICE
1. The drinking of Geneva & other liquors has destroyed thousands of His Majesty’s subjects.
2. Great numbers of others are by its use rendered unfit for useful labour[,] debauched in morals and drawn into all manner of vices and wickedness.
3. The selling of such liquors shall be restrained to people keeping coffee houses[,] ale houses and inn keepers.
1817 H. M Govt.
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Friday, 6 July 2012
Stravinsky's Mass
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7 July
Inserted amid this reconstruction of a 13th century English Mass are two parts specially written by Gavin Bryars. The old and the new intermingle in the work of this stellar vocal ensemble.
This is what early music typically does just at the moment, e.g. Stile Antico, in their new programme of works from the times of all of the Tudors, having the Kyrie (and, maybe, the Gloria, too) of a Mass by Byrd followed by a work, say, by Tye before going back to the Credo of the Byrd, and so on.
However, since 'everyone' seems to be doing it, the words that I have lifted (above)* - from Trio Mediæval's CD A Worcester Ladymass - are describing a common approach, one that I did not want to hear applied the other night (on said Radio 3):
Stravinsky's simple, late Mass I know well, but it is never given a live outing. Unlike these fifteenth- or sixteenth-century settings of the mass, which it may be rather artificial to hear as concert works in one run and which may benefit from the contrast of another composer's style or another period's approach to help us focus on what it is that they are, his work is very compact and scarcely lasts more than fifteen minutes.
Whether it was the point of contrast for the earlier composer's music that was sung on this occasion, or it was thought necessary to allow entry into Stravinsky's sound-world by performing works that influenced him, I do not know. I simply wanted to hear his Mass, and then some other things, perhaps.
End-notes
* And which I could almost imagine Sean Rafferty saying (he who, for me, is the one and only true host of Radio 3's programme In Tune).
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7 July
Inserted amid this reconstruction of a 13th century English Mass are two parts specially written by Gavin Bryars. The old and the new intermingle in the work of this stellar vocal ensemble.
This is what early music typically does just at the moment, e.g. Stile Antico, in their new programme of works from the times of all of the Tudors, having the Kyrie (and, maybe, the Gloria, too) of a Mass by Byrd followed by a work, say, by Tye before going back to the Credo of the Byrd, and so on.
However, since 'everyone' seems to be doing it, the words that I have lifted (above)* - from Trio Mediæval's CD A Worcester Ladymass - are describing a common approach, one that I did not want to hear applied the other night (on said Radio 3):
Stravinsky's simple, late Mass I know well, but it is never given a live outing. Unlike these fifteenth- or sixteenth-century settings of the mass, which it may be rather artificial to hear as concert works in one run and which may benefit from the contrast of another composer's style or another period's approach to help us focus on what it is that they are, his work is very compact and scarcely lasts more than fifteen minutes.
Whether it was the point of contrast for the earlier composer's music that was sung on this occasion, or it was thought necessary to allow entry into Stravinsky's sound-world by performing works that influenced him, I do not know. I simply wanted to hear his Mass, and then some other things, perhaps.
End-notes
* And which I could almost imagine Sean Rafferty saying (he who, for me, is the one and only true host of Radio 3's programme In Tune).
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Thursday, 5 July 2012
What sort of beast is Dark Horse?
This is a review of Dark Horse (2011)
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5 July
This is a review of Dark Horse (2011)
One is not exactly left, as David Lynch arranged in Eraserhead (1977), with a feeling of being uncertain what, if anything, has happened, and it's not quite the ending-after-ending impression left by how the Lord of the Rings trilogy winds up in and with The Return of the King (2003), and yet both elements are there: the latter promises resolution, the former confuses such a notion with presenting, amongst other things, a head being turned into an adjunct for pencils.
As Lynch's film did, therefore, there is a questioning in Dark Horse of what 'a story' in a film is for, whether it is to satisfy and lead us, a bit like a classical sonata, from some sort of stasis into the turmoil of a movement in a minor key and back into the catharsis of the closing outer movement, or whether its roots are in the New Wave and before, which, in Buñuel's case, gave us, at the time time when the wave was breaking, the puzzle of The Exterminating Angel (1962).
Just about anything has been fitted into that pattern of things going bad and turning good again, from 10* (1979) to You've Got Mail (1998) or, as I recall, One Fine Day (1996). Much more interesting is when Scorsese gives us, in After Hours (1985), a film that takes us back to where we began, but with an amazing and satisfying - not from moral or plot point of view of - artistic resolution, in a whizz around Paul Hackett's office. Or Gilliam - when he could still be gutsy - with that sickening moment inside the cooling-tower at the end of Brazil (1985).
Subverting building up to an ending - or the expected ending - is one thing. Some view life as linear, and expect the beginning to be at the start. Others might prefer the sort of narration that Betrayal (1983), pretty close to the stage-play, gives us, and might relate more to a muddle of dream, day-dream, imagination, and sheer fantasy, such as, probably more convincingly than Dark Horse, films like Allen's Deconstructing Harry (1997) (or, for that matter, Stardust Memories (1980)) give us.
Though I do not think that writer / director Todd Solondz is aiming at that here: this is not Thurber's Walter Mitty gone slightly more wrong, but has, as it develops, really far more resonance with something very different, a sort of US Enter the Void, but without certain embellishments.
Rather implausibly, you might infer from trusting what I am saying, IMDb seeks to sum up this work in a sentence as:
Romance blooms between two thirty-somethings in arrested development: an avid toy collector and a woman who is the dark horse of her family
Hell, if that were what this film is about, it wouldn't deserve the time of day! These are superficialities, substituting for an appreciation of what the film implies about the creation and distinegration of personality, hope and desire. It is possible that reviews are more on target than what I have quoted, but I don't think that I want to trust having to wade through many opinions that will just criticize this film for not being what it is not - if, though, they were misled by IMDb's said 23-word snapshot (probably little worse than many a trailer), perhaps it is fair for them to air their grievances there.
Confused - probably stunned - as I was when I came out of Dark Horse and incoherently tried to formulate a response in talking to Jon, who was ushering, I gratefully received his affirmation of that feeling, and I shall, at some point, be following up his recommendation of Solondz's Happiness (1998)...
This review is dedicated to Jon, with thanks
End-notes
* Which, before Baywatch, might have been seen as exploitative (probably of Bo Derek), if it didn't arrive at a convenient moral ending.
Tuesday, 3 July 2012
Shall I compare thee...?
More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
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3 July
I was writing this in Beverley, thinking myself so original, only to realize that the Internet is full of such parodies, and even with the same opening-line:
Shall I compare thee to a pile of trash?
Thou art more dirty and recyclable:
Rough Trade doth heat the stirring pangs of Lust,
And Clubbing's hours give all too short a night.
More some time...
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3 July
I was writing this in Beverley, thinking myself so original, only to realize that the Internet is full of such parodies, and even with the same opening-line:
Shall I compare thee to a pile of trash?
Thou art more dirty and recyclable:
Rough Trade doth heat the stirring pangs of Lust,
And Clubbing's hours give all too short a night.
More some time...
If you want to Tweet, Tweet away here
Monday, 2 July 2012
The woman at the next table
More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
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2 July
She is talking in French - I know that - but I think that she is playing a private game, a bit as barristers do with patterns of words that they try to get past judges:
Ten minutes ago, she said crapeau, a word that anyone who studied the language to 'A' level seems destined to have been taught. (Probably, Eddie Izzard would know why.)
Then, a few minutes later, it was drapeau, and a sound-world was emerging, if not, for want of desire to follow this well-enuniciated French (unlike that rather throaty, self-swalowing kind of her interlocutor), which I think that I could, any obvious other connection.
I believe that there may be a word frap[p]eau* - will that leap out at me next?
End-notes
* Although, now that I check, Google thinks that I have got crapeau wrong, and wants to offer me crapaud instead - twice. As to frappeau, maybe not, but there's frappé, and even - with crapaud - grapaud.
Ô!
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2 July
She is talking in French - I know that - but I think that she is playing a private game, a bit as barristers do with patterns of words that they try to get past judges:
Ten minutes ago, she said crapeau, a word that anyone who studied the language to 'A' level seems destined to have been taught. (Probably, Eddie Izzard would know why.)
Then, a few minutes later, it was drapeau, and a sound-world was emerging, if not, for want of desire to follow this well-enuniciated French (unlike that rather throaty, self-swalowing kind of her interlocutor), which I think that I could, any obvious other connection.
I believe that there may be a word frap[p]eau* - will that leap out at me next?
End-notes
* Although, now that I check, Google thinks that I have got crapeau wrong, and wants to offer me crapaud instead - twice. As to frappeau, maybe not, but there's frappé, and even - with crapaud - grapaud.
Ô!
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Sunday, 1 July 2012
Beneficial exercise - or not going to the gym (2)
More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
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1 July
What I seem to have failed to suggest in that earlier posting (although, really, it belonged there) is:
Exercise only does you any good if you're doing it because you want to do it
You can go through all the bench-presses and roiwng-machines in the world, but, if you don't do it with the love for what you are doing, there will be little or no benefit:
You will begrudge going to the gym, because it costs, hurts, makes you sweat, and, even, none of these claimed sexual encounters between gym-coaches and their trainees occur
All of these feed into a resentment at what is soon the chore of fitting in going to this place (where you have paid,or are paying) to do things that you don't enjoy on the pretence, probably no longer on yours, that it is doing - or will do - you some good
That resentment kills any possible benefit that could accrue to you, just as it would if you only had sex to lose how ever many calories the glossy magazines boast intercourse burns up*
These good things are by-products, by-products of doing something where you actually take pleasure in the exercise - if it is from rowing, then it would be from other things than just the mechanical motion replicated by the machine**, such as the people with whom you are rowing, the camaraderie with them before and after and exerting yourself with them, the river or canal where you row (of which, even if your concentration is focused, you will be aware), and, probably, the absurd pain of the hour of day at which you choose to do this
If I am a celebrity wanting to get my figure back after childbirth, unlike a mere mortal who does not have the resources, I will pay someone to urge me on, with psychological motivations picked for me to make what I doing pleasurable, if still a demand on me
I simply think that, forcing oneself to the gym (not least when one's increasingly infrequent or rushed visits are seen as something that one has or ought to do, not something that one really wants to do) is unlikely 'to deliver' what finding something like tennis or table-tennis or walking that one likes might
Which opinions I choose to sum up by suggesting that the spirit gives live, whereas the law kills
End-notes
* As if one can compare a marathon session of sexual pleasure, where your partner and you seamlessly adopt new ways of love-making (and build up a sweat because you are enjoying the intimacy of each other's body), with something perfunctory in the missionary position.
** Which, honestly, even non-stop MTV does not render palatable (or even renders less so).
If you want to Tweet, Tweet away here
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1 July
What I seem to have failed to suggest in that earlier posting (although, really, it belonged there) is:
Exercise only does you any good if you're doing it because you want to do it
You can go through all the bench-presses and roiwng-machines in the world, but, if you don't do it with the love for what you are doing, there will be little or no benefit:
You will begrudge going to the gym, because it costs, hurts, makes you sweat, and, even, none of these claimed sexual encounters between gym-coaches and their trainees occur
All of these feed into a resentment at what is soon the chore of fitting in going to this place (where you have paid,or are paying) to do things that you don't enjoy on the pretence, probably no longer on yours, that it is doing - or will do - you some good
That resentment kills any possible benefit that could accrue to you, just as it would if you only had sex to lose how ever many calories the glossy magazines boast intercourse burns up*
These good things are by-products, by-products of doing something where you actually take pleasure in the exercise - if it is from rowing, then it would be from other things than just the mechanical motion replicated by the machine**, such as the people with whom you are rowing, the camaraderie with them before and after and exerting yourself with them, the river or canal where you row (of which, even if your concentration is focused, you will be aware), and, probably, the absurd pain of the hour of day at which you choose to do this
If I am a celebrity wanting to get my figure back after childbirth, unlike a mere mortal who does not have the resources, I will pay someone to urge me on, with psychological motivations picked for me to make what I doing pleasurable, if still a demand on me
I simply think that, forcing oneself to the gym (not least when one's increasingly infrequent or rushed visits are seen as something that one has or ought to do, not something that one really wants to do) is unlikely 'to deliver' what finding something like tennis or table-tennis or walking that one likes might
Which opinions I choose to sum up by suggesting that the spirit gives live, whereas the law kills
End-notes
* As if one can compare a marathon session of sexual pleasure, where your partner and you seamlessly adopt new ways of love-making (and build up a sweat because you are enjoying the intimacy of each other's body), with something perfunctory in the missionary position.
** Which, honestly, even non-stop MTV does not render palatable (or even renders less so).
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Saturday, 30 June 2012
Meditations on John
More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
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29 June
This is a companion-piece to Meditations on Matthew
For the performance, I shall dwell on the positives, as the lack of separation of voices in the choral singing did not make, for me, for clarity in to-night’s St John Passion. With such a large work, not everything is likely to be totally to one’s satisfaction, and it is the overall feeling with which one is left that counts.
First, the variations in power and expression that David Shipley brought to the role of Christus made it a joy: not that joy has much part in the Passion, and sadness came to the fore, with tears, when he told his mother that the disciple whom he loved was her son, and to the disciple that she was his mother.
As to what holds the passion together, Mark Wilde’s recitative as Christus was beautifully sung, and the effect of the narration, in tandem with that of the chorales was truly thought provoking, stimulating identification, reflection, and, amongst other things, an imtimate sense of how what The Evangelist is saying brings the story close to us.
More to come...
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29 June
This is a companion-piece to Meditations on Matthew
For the performance, I shall dwell on the positives, as the lack of separation of voices in the choral singing did not make, for me, for clarity in to-night’s St John Passion. With such a large work, not everything is likely to be totally to one’s satisfaction, and it is the overall feeling with which one is left that counts.
First, the variations in power and expression that David Shipley brought to the role of Christus made it a joy: not that joy has much part in the Passion, and sadness came to the fore, with tears, when he told his mother that the disciple whom he loved was her son, and to the disciple that she was his mother.
As to what holds the passion together, Mark Wilde’s recitative as Christus was beautifully sung, and the effect of the narration, in tandem with that of the chorales was truly thought provoking, stimulating identification, reflection, and, amongst other things, an imtimate sense of how what The Evangelist is saying brings the story close to us.
More to come...
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Thursday, 28 June 2012
Down the Elephant and Castle for a lark
More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
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28 June
Well, I probably have many reasons to be grateful to Wikipedia®, some of which cannot be wisely publicized, but I am very pleased by this:
A common misconception is that the term "elephant and castle" is a corruption of "la Infanta de Castilla"
Not the sort of misconception that you would have because you dreamt it up, in the way that someone did a few well-touted (pseudo)statistics (such as inspiration v. perspiration and how much is in the words), but only because some factotum droned on, prefacing the whiffle by Of course as if it were all self evident, and wanted to get you to believe it. On some basis, there would be those who did, and who might then have passed it on to chums, family and colleagues with It's not really, you know.
The entry is an entertainining little piece, with even a Shakespearean reference, and tells you about such delights as Hannibal House (someone with a sense of humour in the planning department for Southwark? - no, I didn't mean that Hannibal!).
But forget what they tell you about the origins, and think giant chess (not necessarily in the spirit of Ron Weasley): the game was very popular in the outdoor form that we know from the seaside and the like, and this far before The Blitz, and a showman amazed onlookers with his chess-playing elephant.
Curse though I am for spoiling the story, but the elephant was just very good at following its human companion's instructions (for he was the real brains behind the outfit), and he would communicate moves to it, for execution with its trunk. The castle part came from the elephant's apparent fondness for employing the piece to get to check-mate (either that or from the sign used to advertise the attraction).
If you want to Tweet, Tweet away here
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28 June
Well, I probably have many reasons to be grateful to Wikipedia®, some of which cannot be wisely publicized, but I am very pleased by this:
A common misconception is that the term "elephant and castle" is a corruption of "la Infanta de Castilla"
Not the sort of misconception that you would have because you dreamt it up, in the way that someone did a few well-touted (pseudo)statistics (such as inspiration v. perspiration and how much is in the words), but only because some factotum droned on, prefacing the whiffle by Of course as if it were all self evident, and wanted to get you to believe it. On some basis, there would be those who did, and who might then have passed it on to chums, family and colleagues with It's not really, you know.
The entry is an entertainining little piece, with even a Shakespearean reference, and tells you about such delights as Hannibal House (someone with a sense of humour in the planning department for Southwark? - no, I didn't mean that Hannibal!).
But forget what they tell you about the origins, and think giant chess (not necessarily in the spirit of Ron Weasley): the game was very popular in the outdoor form that we know from the seaside and the like, and this far before The Blitz, and a showman amazed onlookers with his chess-playing elephant.
Curse though I am for spoiling the story, but the elephant was just very good at following its human companion's instructions (for he was the real brains behind the outfit), and he would communicate moves to it, for execution with its trunk. The castle part came from the elephant's apparent fondness for employing the piece to get to check-mate (either that or from the sign used to advertise the attraction).
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Interview with Mark Brown: The New Mental Health (1)
More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)
28 June
This is just a place-holder - stop-gap, temporary blog-content - until I can post my interview with the editor of One in Four* magazine, Mark Brown.
Mark will be answering questions about The New Mental Health, which, following an important speech that he gave about it at a conference in Perth in Western Australia, he has just announced has been launched.
One in Four is written by people, including Mark, who have mental health difficuties for people - whether or not they have those difficulties - who want to read about the experience of having them or the further difficulties to which they give rise. (One might include construing that sentence!)
End-notes
* Thanks to an underdeveloped keystroke, that nearly ended up as the rather different One in Fur!
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28 June
This is just a place-holder - stop-gap, temporary blog-content - until I can post my interview with the editor of One in Four* magazine, Mark Brown.
Mark will be answering questions about The New Mental Health, which, following an important speech that he gave about it at a conference in Perth in Western Australia, he has just announced has been launched.
One in Four is written by people, including Mark, who have mental health difficuties for people - whether or not they have those difficulties - who want to read about the experience of having them or the further difficulties to which they give rise. (One might include construing that sentence!)
As I have grown to like this page, I shall, now that I shall soon be in a position to give Mark's answers to my questions, post the questions here:
1. Mark, you've called this The New Mental Health - what are you hoping for from
that choice of name?
2. Was launching this new approach in your mind before your strong speech in Perth, Australia?
Was there a flow of energy, in both directions, with writing the speech itself and gauging how people related to you and to you giving it?
3. Your magazine, One in Four, seems to distance itself from whether 'mental health difficulties' arise from - and are the field of - medicine by using those words. For you, will that still be the preferred term in talking about The New Mental Health?
4. Providers of services in 'old' mental health are usually hospital trusts, and, although separately set up, are part of the NHS.
Do you think that the NHS links bring with them a tendency towards being averse to risk or to a truly creative input into services from those who receive them?
5. Conversely, and maybe potentially, how might The New Mental Health differ, and what innovations in services and how, where and when they are available are likely?
6. Other than money, and enthusiastic participants, what else do you think that The New Mental Health will need to thrive?
7. Do you also expect any opposition from entrenched old approaches, and, if so, do you yet know how to challenge it?
8. Yes, the dreaded question, but let's make it three years: what do you believe the place of The New Mental Health will be in providing services by then, and why?
9. Finally, what message have you, both for those excited by The New Mental Health, and for the sceptically minded, who might be mindful of the tale of the monarch and his fresh wardrobe?
Follow this link now for the full interview...
End-notes
* Thanks to an underdeveloped keystroke, that nearly ended up as the rather different One in Fur!
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Wednesday, 27 June 2012
Tamara Stefanovich is in love with Scarlatti (and Bartók)
An account of when Tamara Stefanovich re-created Béla Bartók’s recital in Aldeburgh
More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)
23 June
You could see it in her face (which I saw in profile) as she read the scores and came to passages that engaged and enchanted her. (She played the Debussy beautifully in the programme that she was repeating from Béla Bartók’s recital in Aldeburgh, and even gave an encore of his prelude Footprints in the snow, but the look wasn’t there.) There was a definite smile, and there was the sort of reaction as if she were studying details of a lover’s face and suddenly finding a new expression, or a new way of the light catching it.
According to the quotation from Diderot that Richard Sennett had read at his lecture two days earlier, if it had not betrayed immersion in the communion between the composer’s score (between her and that of these three male composers), making faces during a performance would have been a bad approach to playing. As for me, I liked it, seeing her light up, sometimes even surprised (at a score that she also played yesterday), because she was obviously so much at one with what she was playing.
With Bartók, I noticed that she relished passages with cross-rhythms, the more declamatory statements of a theme (as towards the end of the Romanian Folk Dances of 1915), and also had a fondness for the fay and fantastic, the swaying movement or the outlandish gesture.
I was paying less attention at the outset of the recital, which had three Scarlatti sonatas that I do not recall hearing before – not, then, so much good for Bartók in his choice (and, I gather, he had made an edition), as shame on us in this century (and the last) that we still play just relatively few. Nonetheless, it was clear that Stefanovich was delighted at the articulation of a new theme, and how the music developed in certain places.
With regard to the way that the programme itself built up, Bartók had made a selection that worked well. For example, his Three Burlesques (started in 1908) could have been written in the knowledge of Debussy’s Pour le piano (finished in 1901), and Bartók might, for that reason (or because he anyway thought that they would lead well into the other composer’s world*), have placed them where he did.
Likewise, the Allegro barbaro had space, before and after, just to be itself, not throwing the other pieces into relief, but providing a contrast. Stefanovich made this programme her own, seeming quite at home with it: playing the composers with equal conviction, and giving us the subtlest dynamic variations, after the liveliness of the opening Prélude, in Pour le piano. Debussy himself then seemed especially sure of the bewitching power his themes in the second and third pieces (Sarabande and Toccata).
Happening to speak to Tamara Stefanovich briefly later, I clarified with her whether she had seen her remit to recreate Bartók’s performance. She told me that, although she had listened to recordings of his playing and had noted how he varied his adherence to time, she had not set out to imitate him, but to interpret the music as herself in the light of what she had heard.
It was a very impressive and thoughtful recital of seventy minutes without a break (I imagine that a break would not have been feasible on the original occasion, with a schoolful of girls to be settled in the church hall). My only doubt was, when it was not – as it no longer exists – the church hall in which Bartók played, what point there was in having the recreation recital in somewhere not ideal.
In fact, the Yamaha grand piano dwarfed the stage, leaving little room, on one side, for the wonted upright, and, on the other, the performer: I simply do not know how authentic such a black beast would have been to a performance in a town in the 1920s. I suspect that Bartók’s music may have proved a bigger beast, because it was my perception that the piano went out of tune.
An addendum :
I have since belatedly read the entry for these events (Stefanovich had given the recital, at the same place, the day before, after the lecture by Malcolm Gillies about Bartók's visits to Britain), and I need to say that there had been a reason, although a slightly tenuous one, for using the church hall in Aldeburgh (rather than a room better fitted to the quality of both the playing and the programme). It turns out that this hall had been the former chapel of Belstead Girls' School, and had been re-errected for the parish as its church hall.
However, although Bartók's programme for the recital is known (in his lecture, I am fairly sure that Mr Gillies had not - whether he had one - displayed an original printed document that set it out), and also that Bartók had been invited to play at the school itself. The performance was mainly for the benefit of the girls (although others could pay to be admitted : Mr Gillies showed the document that advertised the concert, which specified no programme, only five shillings for a reserved seat, otherwise two and six).
The venue remains unknown : the advertising does not give it, and, although Mr Gillies had the chance to interview a pupil (part of which he shared with us), it appears that doing so did not shed light on the question. So it may may have been the chapel, now serving as the church hall, but it may not...
End-notes :
* I come back to what I wrote about Colin Matthews and his orchestrations, feeling again that – just as it does a hand – the Debussy fitted its instrument like a glove.
If you want to Tweet, Tweet away here
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)
23 June
An account of when Tamara Stefanovich re-created Béla Bartók’s recital in Aldeburgh
You could see it in her face (which I saw in profile) as she read the scores and came to passages that engaged and enchanted her. (She played the Debussy beautifully in the programme that she was repeating from Béla Bartók’s recital in Aldeburgh, and even gave an encore of his prelude Footprints in the snow, but the look wasn’t there.) There was a definite smile, and there was the sort of reaction as if she were studying details of a lover’s face and suddenly finding a new expression, or a new way of the light catching it.
According to the quotation from Diderot that Richard Sennett had read at his lecture two days earlier, if it had not betrayed immersion in the communion between the composer’s score (between her and that of these three male composers), making faces during a performance would have been a bad approach to playing. As for me, I liked it, seeing her light up, sometimes even surprised (at a score that she also played yesterday), because she was obviously so much at one with what she was playing.
With Bartók, I noticed that she relished passages with cross-rhythms, the more declamatory statements of a theme (as towards the end of the Romanian Folk Dances of 1915), and also had a fondness for the fay and fantastic, the swaying movement or the outlandish gesture.
I was paying less attention at the outset of the recital, which had three Scarlatti sonatas that I do not recall hearing before – not, then, so much good for Bartók in his choice (and, I gather, he had made an edition), as shame on us in this century (and the last) that we still play just relatively few. Nonetheless, it was clear that Stefanovich was delighted at the articulation of a new theme, and how the music developed in certain places.
With regard to the way that the programme itself built up, Bartók had made a selection that worked well. For example, his Three Burlesques (started in 1908) could have been written in the knowledge of Debussy’s Pour le piano (finished in 1901), and Bartók might, for that reason (or because he anyway thought that they would lead well into the other composer’s world*), have placed them where he did.
Likewise, the Allegro barbaro had space, before and after, just to be itself, not throwing the other pieces into relief, but providing a contrast. Stefanovich made this programme her own, seeming quite at home with it: playing the composers with equal conviction, and giving us the subtlest dynamic variations, after the liveliness of the opening Prélude, in Pour le piano. Debussy himself then seemed especially sure of the bewitching power his themes in the second and third pieces (Sarabande and Toccata).
Happening to speak to Tamara Stefanovich briefly later, I clarified with her whether she had seen her remit to recreate Bartók’s performance. She told me that, although she had listened to recordings of his playing and had noted how he varied his adherence to time, she had not set out to imitate him, but to interpret the music as herself in the light of what she had heard.
It was a very impressive and thoughtful recital of seventy minutes without a break (I imagine that a break would not have been feasible on the original occasion, with a schoolful of girls to be settled in the church hall). My only doubt was, when it was not – as it no longer exists – the church hall in which Bartók played, what point there was in having the recreation recital in somewhere not ideal.
In fact, the Yamaha grand piano dwarfed the stage, leaving little room, on one side, for the wonted upright, and, on the other, the performer: I simply do not know how authentic such a black beast would have been to a performance in a town in the 1920s. I suspect that Bartók’s music may have proved a bigger beast, because it was my perception that the piano went out of tune.
An addendum :
I have since belatedly read the entry for these events (Stefanovich had given the recital, at the same place, the day before, after the lecture by Malcolm Gillies about Bartók's visits to Britain), and I need to say that there had been a reason, although a slightly tenuous one, for using the church hall in Aldeburgh (rather than a room better fitted to the quality of both the playing and the programme). It turns out that this hall had been the former chapel of Belstead Girls' School, and had been re-errected for the parish as its church hall.
However, although Bartók's programme for the recital is known (in his lecture, I am fairly sure that Mr Gillies had not - whether he had one - displayed an original printed document that set it out), and also that Bartók had been invited to play at the school itself. The performance was mainly for the benefit of the girls (although others could pay to be admitted : Mr Gillies showed the document that advertised the concert, which specified no programme, only five shillings for a reserved seat, otherwise two and six).
The venue remains unknown : the advertising does not give it, and, although Mr Gillies had the chance to interview a pupil (part of which he shared with us), it appears that doing so did not shed light on the question. So it may may have been the chapel, now serving as the church hall, but it may not...
End-notes :
* I come back to what I wrote about Colin Matthews and his orchestrations, feeling again that – just as it does a hand – the Debussy fitted its instrument like a glove.
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Tuesday, 26 June 2012
Playing a hand with the Lord
More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
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26 June
You know that your mind is not in quite the right place to listen to a petit motet, even if you've never heard one live before, when you start thinking certain things on seeing the line
speravit anima mea in Domino
Yes, maybe pizza, but equally that game with the spotted rectangular pieces! (Still a pub classic, in some areas, with the regulars having grudge matches, I believe.) Do we really get the name of dominoes from here?
If Wikipedia® is to be believed, though, favela has nothing to do with this other line, in the Dies irae, as set by Lully for the funreal (?) of Marie-Thérèse, wife of Louis XIV, meaning 'will deserve the world in ashes':
solvet saeculum in favilla
Odd, as a slum area would seem to have quite a lot in common with a world dissolved in ashes. Be that as it may, the real revelation comes towards the end of this text that he composed for:
flammis acribus addictis
This, translated as 'doomed to flames of woe', seems to shed some light on the nature of real addiction, of being doomed to do something: when the word 'addiction' came to mean what it does, was someone making a judgement, whether or not moral, on the power of the person to escape it?
Sounds like a fairly condemnatory appraisal to me, which does not allow for hope - or change. Its life-history is in line for being gtracked down...
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26 June
You know that your mind is not in quite the right place to listen to a petit motet, even if you've never heard one live before, when you start thinking certain things on seeing the line
speravit anima mea in Domino
Yes, maybe pizza, but equally that game with the spotted rectangular pieces! (Still a pub classic, in some areas, with the regulars having grudge matches, I believe.) Do we really get the name of dominoes from here?
If Wikipedia® is to be believed, though, favela has nothing to do with this other line, in the Dies irae, as set by Lully for the funreal (?) of Marie-Thérèse, wife of Louis XIV, meaning 'will deserve the world in ashes':
solvet saeculum in favilla
Odd, as a slum area would seem to have quite a lot in common with a world dissolved in ashes. Be that as it may, the real revelation comes towards the end of this text that he composed for:
flammis acribus addictis
This, translated as 'doomed to flames of woe', seems to shed some light on the nature of real addiction, of being doomed to do something: when the word 'addiction' came to mean what it does, was someone making a judgement, whether or not moral, on the power of the person to escape it?
Sounds like a fairly condemnatory appraisal to me, which does not allow for hope - or change. Its life-history is in line for being gtracked down...
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Monday, 25 June 2012
My new favourites
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26 June
Two new browsers, and both straight out of (old-style) Doctor Who:
Maxthon
Dalvik
Maxthon has to be a strange, deserted planet with a DalÃesque quality to it, telegraph-poles supported by what one won't look too closely at, mirages, weird constructions with boiled beans. Whereas Dalvik is - predictably - an evil genius, trying, by frantic calculation, to find the formula that makes everything implode on itself.
OK, hints of the last adventure, Logopolis, for Tom Baker, but it's late... And the residents of Logopolis were (till The Master got them), after all, performing calculations that sustained the fabric of the universe, and the loss of the mathematics, if it hadn't been for The Doctor employing The Pharos Project to reprogramme space - time (albeit too late to save Nissa's family on Traken), was what caused the destructive void to open up.
Class dismissed!
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26 June
Two new browsers, and both straight out of (old-style) Doctor Who:
Maxthon
Dalvik
Maxthon has to be a strange, deserted planet with a DalÃesque quality to it, telegraph-poles supported by what one won't look too closely at, mirages, weird constructions with boiled beans. Whereas Dalvik is - predictably - an evil genius, trying, by frantic calculation, to find the formula that makes everything implode on itself.
OK, hints of the last adventure, Logopolis, for Tom Baker, but it's late... And the residents of Logopolis were (till The Master got them), after all, performing calculations that sustained the fabric of the universe, and the loss of the mathematics, if it hadn't been for The Doctor employing The Pharos Project to reprogramme space - time (albeit too late to save Nissa's family on Traken), was what caused the destructive void to open up.
Class dismissed!
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This poem is not just about Connie Booth
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26 June
This poem is not just about Connie Booth
Connie Booth
Is so smooth
That it shows
Andrew Sachs
Had attacks,
I am told
Prunella Scales
Recited tales
Of the east
John Cleese
Fights disease
To the last
© Copyright Belston Night Works 2012
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26 June
This poem is not just about Connie Booth
Connie Booth
Is so smooth
That it shows
Andrew Sachs
Had attacks,
I am told
Prunella Scales
Recited tales
Of the east
John Cleese
Fights disease
To the last
© Copyright Belston Night Works 2012
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Stellen
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26 June
Stellen
Sane and serene
They seem
These lights
From places not there
Where they appear
And, in the north,
I will never see
For myself
What the south has
As its 'show'
The tilt of the earth,
That darkness
We call night,
At best the moon
Illumines
And all can see it,
If, at the poles,
Maybe eightfold
Like the sun
The overhead sun
Yet, midnight sun
Though it is,
Unsetting,
It tends to melt
Rather little
These pinprick cousins
At night
Melt less still,
But melt me,
Melt my heart
© Copyright Belston Night Works 2012
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26 June
Stellen
Sane and serene
They seem
These lights
From places not there
Where they appear
And, in the north,
I will never see
For myself
What the south has
As its 'show'
The tilt of the earth,
That darkness
We call night,
At best the moon
Illumines
And all can see it,
If, at the poles,
Maybe eightfold
Like the sun
The overhead sun
Yet, midnight sun
Though it is,
Unsetting,
It tends to melt
Rather little
These pinprick cousins
At night
Melt less still,
But melt me,
Melt my heart
© Copyright Belston Night Works 2012
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Tu es Petrus
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25 June
There may be others who remember an averagely diverting series about a gumshoe - if he wasn't a serving police officer - called Petrocelli. (Probably, I could find out, and even buy some DVDs on Amazon for old time's sake, but there's already too much else to watch.)
He made me think (remembering the name caused the thought) of petrochemicals and petroleum, as well as whether it was a plausible Italian surname, and that took me to what Jesus said to Peter:
Much theology wants to describe what happens when Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves Jesus (using different words for the verb 'to love', as C. S. Lewis and others have observed), and to call what Jesus then says to him the 'reinstatement' of Peter. Me, I don't know whether he was reinstated or not (i.e. whether he needed reinstating).
What I do know, as others point out, is the pun that comes out in the Latin version of what was said (presumably from the Vulgate, unless, at this point in the gospel (or is it in Acts?), Jesus utters the words in Latin), which is where we came from with these products and fuels derived from what is under the rock. That, and Jesus, referring to Peter as a foundation (taken as the basis for the authenticity of the Roman Catholic faith*) when he says that on him he will build his church.
I think that it it the word ecclesia that he would have used, from which we, in turn, derive Ecclesiastes and ecclesiastical law, but I really don't know what was meant: not, I suspect, a church as we have it to-day, even if a body of people (rather than a building), and also not, I suspect, the unbroken line of succession that is supposed to go back to Peter (as the basis for the Vatican and what foes with it)...
Funny where thinking about a detective's name takes you!
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25 June
There may be others who remember an averagely diverting series about a gumshoe - if he wasn't a serving police officer - called Petrocelli. (Probably, I could find out, and even buy some DVDs on Amazon for old time's sake, but there's already too much else to watch.)
He made me think (remembering the name caused the thought) of petrochemicals and petroleum, as well as whether it was a plausible Italian surname, and that took me to what Jesus said to Peter:
Much theology wants to describe what happens when Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves Jesus (using different words for the verb 'to love', as C. S. Lewis and others have observed), and to call what Jesus then says to him the 'reinstatement' of Peter. Me, I don't know whether he was reinstated or not (i.e. whether he needed reinstating).
What I do know, as others point out, is the pun that comes out in the Latin version of what was said (presumably from the Vulgate, unless, at this point in the gospel (or is it in Acts?), Jesus utters the words in Latin), which is where we came from with these products and fuels derived from what is under the rock. That, and Jesus, referring to Peter as a foundation (taken as the basis for the authenticity of the Roman Catholic faith*) when he says that on him he will build his church.
I think that it it the word ecclesia that he would have used, from which we, in turn, derive Ecclesiastes and ecclesiastical law, but I really don't know what was meant: not, I suspect, a church as we have it to-day, even if a body of people (rather than a building), and also not, I suspect, the unbroken line of succession that is supposed to go back to Peter (as the basis for the Vatican and what foes with it)...
Funny where thinking about a detective's name takes you!
End-notes
According to www.ewtn.com/jp2/papal3/holysee.htm, 'The Holy See consists of the Roman Curia and other offices and services which assist the Supreme Pontiff in the Petrine Ministry'.What is Pritter's Achilles' heel?
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25 June
Serious or not, I do not believe that it is any more possible to have a debate by Splatter/Twatter than by MSN Messenger: with the latter, because of the immediacy of seeing the other person's reponse, it's all too easy to feel the need to reply quickly (perhaps, more and more quickly) and, sooner or later, say something (or in such a way) that, if interpreted differently, gives rise to offence, defence and even reprisal.
In theory, if the visuals on Skype weren't such rubbish and not in synch, it would be better than a telephone-call. Still, with a conversation by telephone, there is potential for noticing and acting on such cues as inflexion, intonation, breathiness of the voice, involuntary ways of evincing surprise, shock, etc. - you know, all those things that go to make up the 92% in that standard iceberg cod-psychology diagram*, which purports to show how little of the meaning in a face-to-face conversation is in the words. (Oh yes, generalizing diagram? Just try saying 'You're fired!'(or 'Your mother is dead') to someone in a serious voice, and ask how little he or she took from your words!)
As to Pratter, with a character-limit similar to text-messaging's regrettable re-invention of the telegram's pressure on words to save charges, it should be no worse than text-messaging, except that there is an arena, a sort of Big Top: by which I mean that, if I send a text-message to Dr Paul, some time (which may be longer than one expects) it gets to his phone and, one hopes, he reads it and, in his own time, replies (if it needs a reply).
So much holds true for both: I can choose to expend money or time on an extended text-message, just as I can send a follow-up Tweet straight after. What remains (or results) is the fragmentary nature, not just of the correspondence, but also of the means of conducting it (especially on a handheld device), which has the potential, not least when other debates / conversations are going on at the same, for participants not stopping to check what the other person did say before letting go a broadside.
However, telecomms errors and hacking apart, a text-message doesn't go to anyone else's phone, for which read 'is publicly available on Witter - until I choose to delete it - for anyone who decides to do what is weirdly called following me' (sounds like licensed stalking ['Someone's following me' never sounded like a good thing before], but there we go. Here, though, with my debate with Dr Paul, which may involve misunderstandings, misrememberings, misconceptions, all this is (circus again!) being played out before an audience, even if it probably is an audience that couldn't care less, and glances - or scrolls - past**.
I believe that that element of 'dirty washing in public' changes things, both as to the things said, and the desire (albeit resistible) to say things back. Combine that with doing whatever it is in 140 characters, or multiples thereof, and what a mess results!
End-notes
* Which, as Tomkinson's Schooldays would possibly say, was seen by Potter Minor on a training-course, reproduced afterwards with slightly variant percentages and passed on to Venables, who couldn't read the scribbled figures, but had a guess, and delivered them in a lecture heard by Barnstoneworth, who told Eric Olthwaite...
** Unlike the rubbernecking that gives rise to those dangerous slow-downs on Motorways, as if either the pulled-over police-car with the flashing lights gives a screw about the other drivers' speeds just at that moment, or the sight of a vehicle on its side is inescapably edifying.
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25 June
Serious or not, I do not believe that it is any more possible to have a debate by Splatter/Twatter than by MSN Messenger: with the latter, because of the immediacy of seeing the other person's reponse, it's all too easy to feel the need to reply quickly (perhaps, more and more quickly) and, sooner or later, say something (or in such a way) that, if interpreted differently, gives rise to offence, defence and even reprisal.
In theory, if the visuals on Skype weren't such rubbish and not in synch, it would be better than a telephone-call. Still, with a conversation by telephone, there is potential for noticing and acting on such cues as inflexion, intonation, breathiness of the voice, involuntary ways of evincing surprise, shock, etc. - you know, all those things that go to make up the 92% in that standard iceberg cod-psychology diagram*, which purports to show how little of the meaning in a face-to-face conversation is in the words. (Oh yes, generalizing diagram? Just try saying 'You're fired!'(or 'Your mother is dead') to someone in a serious voice, and ask how little he or she took from your words!)
As to Pratter, with a character-limit similar to text-messaging's regrettable re-invention of the telegram's pressure on words to save charges, it should be no worse than text-messaging, except that there is an arena, a sort of Big Top: by which I mean that, if I send a text-message to Dr Paul, some time (which may be longer than one expects) it gets to his phone and, one hopes, he reads it and, in his own time, replies (if it needs a reply).
So much holds true for both: I can choose to expend money or time on an extended text-message, just as I can send a follow-up Tweet straight after. What remains (or results) is the fragmentary nature, not just of the correspondence, but also of the means of conducting it (especially on a handheld device), which has the potential, not least when other debates / conversations are going on at the same, for participants not stopping to check what the other person did say before letting go a broadside.
However, telecomms errors and hacking apart, a text-message doesn't go to anyone else's phone, for which read 'is publicly available on Witter - until I choose to delete it - for anyone who decides to do what is weirdly called following me' (sounds like licensed stalking ['Someone's following me' never sounded like a good thing before], but there we go. Here, though, with my debate with Dr Paul, which may involve misunderstandings, misrememberings, misconceptions, all this is (circus again!) being played out before an audience, even if it probably is an audience that couldn't care less, and glances - or scrolls - past**.
I believe that that element of 'dirty washing in public' changes things, both as to the things said, and the desire (albeit resistible) to say things back. Combine that with doing whatever it is in 140 characters, or multiples thereof, and what a mess results!
And who softened the blow / profile of all this under the cunning aegis of calling it all 'social media'? Pratter is a tool that has the potential to be a divisive medium, if not just a repository for endlessly spread links to Internet items or products whose actual worth or interest one cannot judge from the Tweet itself. This sheer advertisement and self-promotion might be better placed on t.v.
End-notes
* Which, as Tomkinson's Schooldays would possibly say, was seen by Potter Minor on a training-course, reproduced afterwards with slightly variant percentages and passed on to Venables, who couldn't read the scribbled figures, but had a guess, and delivered them in a lecture heard by Barnstoneworth, who told Eric Olthwaite...
** Unlike the rubbernecking that gives rise to those dangerous slow-downs on Motorways, as if either the pulled-over police-car with the flashing lights gives a screw about the other drivers' speeds just at that moment, or the sight of a vehicle on its side is inescapably edifying.
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Sunday, 24 June 2012
Knots in a whale
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24 June
When Kelly Ann Parsons became Kelly Brook, maybe no one had my inclination to try making Spoonerisms of everything – Belly Crook?
It could mean that she steals people’s stomachs, or, in the Australian sense, that a recent meal disagreed with her. (Either way, I wish that I could erase this thought and think of her name as I used to!)
But names are funny things, and have what the phrase calls a life of their own. How else would an NHS Trust come up with a title for a policy (‘P’ for policy) that spelt out CRAP? You could say that they were at least honest about the worth of the contents…
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Odd words (1)
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24 June
I happened to be thinking about Harry Potter, trying to remember the exact name of the listening-devices tellingly used by Hermione, Ron and him, and I ended up thinking about the word 'sneak' and 'to sneak':
As in 'sneaking a look', what the trio of friends do is to eavesdrop (another interesting word, I suspect) on what they should not be hearing. Likewise, creeping in somewhere, in the hope that others will be unaware, is 'sneaking in'*.
All well and good. If we turn to a person who tells others' misdeeds to those in authority, i.e. 'sneak' as a noun (also called a tell-tale), the illicit act is not (necessarily) finding out the information covertly, but in revealing what those people intended to be secret.
Which brings us back to the verb, the Peeping Tom / Lady Godiva aspect, of what was being done or discussed privately (because confidential), though, of course, the lady's act of riding a horse was rather more public. And what a shame that we remember not her civil disobedience at her husband's cruel measures, but this prurient element. In fact, whatever myth there may be, do we even know whether her opposition bore any fruit (other than the unwitting, negative one of Tom's downfall)?
End-notes
* There is the US past tense 'snuck', for 'sneaked', that t.v. and film have given us.
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24 June
I happened to be thinking about Harry Potter, trying to remember the exact name of the listening-devices tellingly used by Hermione, Ron and him, and I ended up thinking about the word 'sneak' and 'to sneak':
As in 'sneaking a look', what the trio of friends do is to eavesdrop (another interesting word, I suspect) on what they should not be hearing. Likewise, creeping in somewhere, in the hope that others will be unaware, is 'sneaking in'*.
All well and good. If we turn to a person who tells others' misdeeds to those in authority, i.e. 'sneak' as a noun (also called a tell-tale), the illicit act is not (necessarily) finding out the information covertly, but in revealing what those people intended to be secret.
Which brings us back to the verb, the Peeping Tom / Lady Godiva aspect, of what was being done or discussed privately (because confidential), though, of course, the lady's act of riding a horse was rather more public. And what a shame that we remember not her civil disobedience at her husband's cruel measures, but this prurient element. In fact, whatever myth there may be, do we even know whether her opposition bore any fruit (other than the unwitting, negative one of Tom's downfall)?
End-notes
* There is the US past tense 'snuck', for 'sneaked', that t.v. and film have given us.
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