The Burrell Collection was reopened to the public after several years of refurbishment to the building housing it in Pollock Park and Andrew and I were amongst those who visited in the first few weeks of its reopening.
Weatherwise it was a lovely day, so lovely in fact that Andrew got slightly sunstroked as we drank our after lunch coffee out on the terrace. He's got substantially more hair than me but not enough to keep the sun entirely at bay.
The collection itself is a vast, rambling selection of the world's treasures. Not so much a selection perhaps. More a case of "look at that, it's lovely, I'll have it." Not that Burrell himself chose every item. He had agents.
Nonetheless it's a brilliant place to wander around in and admire and wonder at what's on display. Upstairs there's a set of galleries each focussing on a craft form; metalwork, ceramics, glassworking and so on. I found that most interesting.
To get to Pollock Park we'd taken a train to Pollockshaws West which according to a blue plaque on the wall there is the oldest Glasgow station still in use, having been opened in 1848.
I've been busy with Rock but have managed to fit in some more acting as a pretend COPD patient being interviewed by trainee physiotherapists. It was quite fun and I've agreed to suffer some other malady for the benefit of more students in June.
I've seen two productions since I last posted. Red Ellen at The Lyceum. Ellen Wilkinson was a pint-sized firebrand active in socialist politics before and during the Second World War when she served as a cabinet minister. She worked and played hard, living life at a hectic pace and the production mirrors this in a rapid succession of episodes and locations. I'm not sure that I'd have much liked Ellen had I known her but I found the story interesting though I was only emotionally involved towards the end.
With Hay Fever I wasn't emotionally involved at all but nor should I have been. It's an amusing and mildly satirical comedy of imagined pre-war middle class life in the household of a grande dame of the theatre, Judith Bliss, recently retired from the stage. She, her novelist husband and her two self-indulgent children have all independently and without giving notice to the others invited a guest for the weekend. In essence they all have fun at the guests' expense who seize the opportunity on the Sunday morning to sneak away leaving the family squabbling enjoyably amongst themselves.
The Grads' production is efficiently and intelligently staged, lit and directed. The costuming is first class. For my money the cast were all up to the mark although here and there a bit more Lady Bracknell would not have gone amiss. The production like many others was on, off and on again because of Covid but persistence paid off. It was worth the wait.
The SCO concert season reached its end with a brilliant evening in the Usher Hall. Russian born Alina Ibragimova came on stage in a vivid red dress and gave us a performance of Prokoviev's 1st Violin Concerto full of fire and colour to match. It's wonderful music and she did more than justice to it. In the second half more fire, or indeed firewoks from the orchestra in Stravinsky's ballet suite The Firebird. Maxim Emelyanychev conducted with his trademark enthusiasm and energy, dancing his way through the piece. It was written for the ballet after all.
In the same hall the following evening the RSNO under the baton of another lively young conductor, Tabita Berglund, performed Sibelius's 5th Symphony and with Torlief Thedéen as soloist Dvorak's Cello Concerto. I love the intensity and melancholy of the Dvorak. The Sibelius was less my thing but I do have sympathy with the guy who said "It makes me want to go home to Finland, and I'm not even Finnish."
Our third great orchestra, the SNJO, presented Tommy Smith's latest work, Tales of the Tribe which the Scotsman's reviewer declared to be "a triumph" and I wouldn't contradict him. It was an excellent fusion of jazz, folk and poetry. Here's what the critic had to say.
I was checking up on my vaccination status in anticipation of going on holiday this summer and much as I expected found that my tetanus and whatnot were out of date. So I phoned the surgery only to be told that GPs no longer do these jags. I would have to go to the travel clinic at the Western. Thanks to the staff there calling me back after several fruitless efforts to get through on my part I got an appointment and went to the building site that is the hospital. It rather reminded me of the construction project that is Leith Walk.
