Nothing that I went to in the Jazz Festival was other than enjoyable but in addition to Martin Kershaw's concert that I reported on earlier two others rose to the top of the pile.
The young Mark Hendry is clearly a talent with an exciting future ahead of him. He had written two pieces for an ensemble of twenty three players, in essence a chamber orchestra with saxophones and drum kit ousting classical woodwinds and percussion. His Endangered Species suite was a thoughtful, reflective and melodious piece that contrasted vividly with the jagged, piercing dystopian screeches of 1984, written in response to Orwell's novel. Great stuff warmly applauded by an appreciative audience.
Martin Kershaw popped up again, this time with Dave Milligan, Calum Gourlay and Alan Cosker as a member of Colin Steele's Quintet. They played ninety minutes of Colin's music (some written in collaboration with Dave Milligan). Apart from one number that harked back to New Orleans it was straight ahead modern jazz of great quality. It was the last gig I went to and finished my festival on a suitably high note.
Tuesday, July 24, 2018
Friday, July 20, 2018
The Napier Jazz Summer School has been on this week and although I didn't take part this year I had it in mind to go to their concert but for one reason or another I didn't make it.
I have been to some other Jazz Festival gigs though and have more booked for this weekend. The only one worth reporting so far was Martin Kershaw's. He'd gathered a few locally well known players together to present the world premiere of a piece he's written called Dreaming of Ourselves.
The title comes from a book by David Foster Wallace who died ten years ago and the music and the concert were in tribute to him. I've never read any of his work and he sounds a bit of an oddball to put it kindly and I can't say I understand the process of creating music in response to anything; person, book, scenery or whatever.
But the result in Martin's case was super.
I have been to some other Jazz Festival gigs though and have more booked for this weekend. The only one worth reporting so far was Martin Kershaw's. He'd gathered a few locally well known players together to present the world premiere of a piece he's written called Dreaming of Ourselves.
The title comes from a book by David Foster Wallace who died ten years ago and the music and the concert were in tribute to him. I've never read any of his work and he sounds a bit of an oddball to put it kindly and I can't say I understand the process of creating music in response to anything; person, book, scenery or whatever.
But the result in Martin's case was super.
Wednesday, July 18, 2018
The rest of the week was equally wonderful and the journey home, via Munich this time, was equally tedious.
I happened to be in a bar with some American musicians during the latter stages of the Croatia-England World Cup game. Foolishly they were relying on my football expertise to help them follow the match. Despite that they enjoyed it and joined in with the general Croation delirium when the final whistle was blown.
They didn't go to the extent of jumping into the nearby fountain like this lot though:
I imagine that many of these bathers, having dried themselves off, were amongst the hundreds thronging around in Zagreb airport at 5am on the following Sunday en route to Moscow.
I happened to be in a bar with some American musicians during the latter stages of the Croatia-England World Cup game. Foolishly they were relying on my football expertise to help them follow the match. Despite that they enjoyed it and joined in with the general Croation delirium when the final whistle was blown.
They didn't go to the extent of jumping into the nearby fountain like this lot though:
Wednesday, July 11, 2018
The journey to Zagreb was tedious, involving as it did hours hanging around Cologne Airport. I did have Muriel Spark's first novel for company and am encouraged to work through more of her oeuvre.
The journey was worth it though. The first day of the Sax Congress was wonderful. I believe their are 1500 participants and over 400 recitals, concerts and other events. Very like the Fringe except that one ticket at 160 euros gives me access to all 400. That's up from 100 three years ago but I'm not complaining.
The journey was worth it though. The first day of the Sax Congress was wonderful. I believe their are 1500 participants and over 400 recitals, concerts and other events. Very like the Fringe except that one ticket at 160 euros gives me access to all 400. That's up from 100 three years ago but I'm not complaining.
Tuesday, July 03, 2018
Numéro Une or Woman Up as it is known here is a feminist drama. It tells the story of a woman already well up the business ladder who, boosted by a group of women whose mission is the furtherance of the sisterhood, is persuaded to have a go at getting the top job in a company from the CAC 40, the French equivalent of our Footsie 100.
Her hospitalised philosophy teacher father is somewhat sceptical about the business world and her American husband fears for his own career. Indeed he loses his current job as collateral damage in the machinations that are unleashed.
Sad to say there are lots of machinations and dirty tricks not only from the entrenched interests that oppose her but from her side also. She succeeds only by stooping to the underhand ways of the male.
I don't think that's a very encouraging or edifying message to women doing their best to break through the glass ceiling.
Peter Sellers has always been one of my favourite actors. I've enjoyed lots of his films but had never seen Being There in which he plays a simpleton whose deadpan delivery of trite statements about the seasons and gardening are taken by the rich and powerful to be insightful metaphors that illustrate the ills of the world and how to resolve them. It's very. very funny.
When I went to see Man of Iron I thought I was going to a documentary about Lech Wałęsa, the founder of the independent trade union Solidarność. Instead it was a drama dealing with the period and the struggle to bind the shipyard workers together and the personal stories behind the events. I've no idea how true to the facts it was but I didn't care for it much as a film. That's probably a hanging offence because I've since discovered that it won the Palme d'Or at Cannes in 1981.
It contains a lot of shouting and ill-tempered squabbling and weeping women, none of which moved me in the slightest. All of which struck me as melodramatic over-acting. That no doubt is my insensitivity at work but there we are.
That's the Film Festival over for another year.
Her hospitalised philosophy teacher father is somewhat sceptical about the business world and her American husband fears for his own career. Indeed he loses his current job as collateral damage in the machinations that are unleashed.
Sad to say there are lots of machinations and dirty tricks not only from the entrenched interests that oppose her but from her side also. She succeeds only by stooping to the underhand ways of the male.
I don't think that's a very encouraging or edifying message to women doing their best to break through the glass ceiling.
Peter Sellers has always been one of my favourite actors. I've enjoyed lots of his films but had never seen Being There in which he plays a simpleton whose deadpan delivery of trite statements about the seasons and gardening are taken by the rich and powerful to be insightful metaphors that illustrate the ills of the world and how to resolve them. It's very. very funny.
When I went to see Man of Iron I thought I was going to a documentary about Lech Wałęsa, the founder of the independent trade union Solidarność. Instead it was a drama dealing with the period and the struggle to bind the shipyard workers together and the personal stories behind the events. I've no idea how true to the facts it was but I didn't care for it much as a film. That's probably a hanging offence because I've since discovered that it won the Palme d'Or at Cannes in 1981.
It contains a lot of shouting and ill-tempered squabbling and weeping women, none of which moved me in the slightest. All of which struck me as melodramatic over-acting. That no doubt is my insensitivity at work but there we are.
That's the Film Festival over for another year.
Thursday, June 28, 2018
Another film I could well have done without seeing was Pushkar Myths. I know very well why I chose it. The Pushkar camel fair has always been high on my list of things to see before I die so a documentary about it seemed a good idea, either as an appetiser or as a means of saving all the hassle of actually going.
Someone said at the screening of another film that there is too much verbalisation nowadays in what is essentially a visual art. Let the pictures tell the story. I have a lot of sympathy with that view but in a documentary it's generally helpful to back up the pictures with some words. That's maybe what the makers of Pushkar Myths were trying to do but none of the words were a direct commentary on the pictures. They were mostly rambling, and to me barely comprehensible, stories about the Indian gods with a lot of old testament style X begat Y and Y begat Z...
The story the pictures did tell was of a fairly chaotic gathering of people and beasts. Some of the pictures were great, folk dancing displays for instance or haggling over a best cow in fair competition. But not all. A ferris wheel is a ferris wheel is a ferris wheel in India or in Cowdenbeath. And the camels figured hardly at all.
While Pushkar Myths may have given me the hump Testament repaid my small investment in time and treasure manyfold. Made in 1983 it's the story of the effects on a typical, not to say stereotypical American family and their small Californian community after a nuclear attack on the country's main cities.
The director, Lynne Littman, was at the screening and was visibly moved when she came on for a Q&A. She said she hadn't seen the film for 25 years and that as she watched she blushed at everything she thought was wrong with it, every family cliché, every overdone moment, every obvious emotional trick. But she could not help herself from being stirred. Neither could the audience.
Saying she'd been scared at the possibility of nuclear annihilation when she made the film her one regret was that given the present regime in America it seemed to be relevant still.
Someone said at the screening of another film that there is too much verbalisation nowadays in what is essentially a visual art. Let the pictures tell the story. I have a lot of sympathy with that view but in a documentary it's generally helpful to back up the pictures with some words. That's maybe what the makers of Pushkar Myths were trying to do but none of the words were a direct commentary on the pictures. They were mostly rambling, and to me barely comprehensible, stories about the Indian gods with a lot of old testament style X begat Y and Y begat Z...
The story the pictures did tell was of a fairly chaotic gathering of people and beasts. Some of the pictures were great, folk dancing displays for instance or haggling over a best cow in fair competition. But not all. A ferris wheel is a ferris wheel is a ferris wheel in India or in Cowdenbeath. And the camels figured hardly at all.
While Pushkar Myths may have given me the hump Testament repaid my small investment in time and treasure manyfold. Made in 1983 it's the story of the effects on a typical, not to say stereotypical American family and their small Californian community after a nuclear attack on the country's main cities.
The director, Lynne Littman, was at the screening and was visibly moved when she came on for a Q&A. She said she hadn't seen the film for 25 years and that as she watched she blushed at everything she thought was wrong with it, every family cliché, every overdone moment, every obvious emotional trick. But she could not help herself from being stirred. Neither could the audience.
Saying she'd been scared at the possibility of nuclear annihilation when she made the film her one regret was that given the present regime in America it seemed to be relevant still.
Wednesday, June 27, 2018
Going through this year's Book Festival programme I identified 57 events of interest. Over time I managed to cut that list down to a more manageable not to say affordable 12 and when booking opened yesterday got a ticket for all of them.
I think my choices are quite firmly based which is not always the case. As I sat in the Filmhouse watching Cosmic Eye I wondered what had driven me to choose it. Animation is not my bag for a start. It must surely have been the advertised contributions of Benny Carter and Dizzy Gillespie that made me ignore the "rarely screened gem" warning in the festival brochure. Fortunately an afternoon Campari and soda taken to celebrate the arrival of a small table for my balcony induced a fair degree of eyelid droop so there was no lasting damage.
Terminal is all style over substance but none the worse for that. The director told us that they had wanted to create a neon drenched noir thriller set in a dystopian city that had a London flavour to it. With a caveat over just how thrilling or not it was, they succeeded.
The cinematography, music, costumes and performances are excellent. The locations like the deserted railway terminal, the vast industrial building with a bottomless pit at its centre and others are all lit and dressed atmospherically.
But the plot advertised as complex, travels more along the familiar paths of the genre. Its double crosses and reveals, its denouement's echoes of gathering the suspects and explaining all (albeit there's only one left) hardly breaks new ground or strains the spectator's brain. That may or may not be a good thing in the cinemagoers' eyes. I hope it's a good thing because the film is fun and deserves to do well.
I think my choices are quite firmly based which is not always the case. As I sat in the Filmhouse watching Cosmic Eye I wondered what had driven me to choose it. Animation is not my bag for a start. It must surely have been the advertised contributions of Benny Carter and Dizzy Gillespie that made me ignore the "rarely screened gem" warning in the festival brochure. Fortunately an afternoon Campari and soda taken to celebrate the arrival of a small table for my balcony induced a fair degree of eyelid droop so there was no lasting damage.
Terminal is all style over substance but none the worse for that. The director told us that they had wanted to create a neon drenched noir thriller set in a dystopian city that had a London flavour to it. With a caveat over just how thrilling or not it was, they succeeded.
The cinematography, music, costumes and performances are excellent. The locations like the deserted railway terminal, the vast industrial building with a bottomless pit at its centre and others are all lit and dressed atmospherically.
But the plot advertised as complex, travels more along the familiar paths of the genre. Its double crosses and reveals, its denouement's echoes of gathering the suspects and explaining all (albeit there's only one left) hardly breaks new ground or strains the spectator's brain. That may or may not be a good thing in the cinemagoers' eyes. I hope it's a good thing because the film is fun and deserves to do well.
Monday, June 25, 2018
I absented myself from this afternoon's screening of Fritz Lang's 1931 thriller M to enjoy the current heatwave but I sacrificed sun for cinema yesterday.
First on the agenda was a set of seven short films grouped under the title Where's Your Skirt? That was in fact a line plucked from one of the films. It was not altogether representative of the group though four were about girls and one featured a boy in a negligée. I guess it just appealed to the programmer. Brief notes so I don't forget. They were all well crafted and interesting whether lighthearted or serious.
Winter with Umma - Thirty year old still a student in Edinburgh while her brother is getting married back home in Korea. Can a visit from her mum help her into adulthood whatever that is?
Salt and Sauce - A girl unhappily stuck helping in the family chip shop while friends escape to college or the big bad world. She likes taking photographs. A middle-aged lady customer admires them and reveals that she once toured as a provocatively clad magician's assistant. Get up and do what makes you happy is her advice.
Some of these Days - A young German interviewing his grandparents who were school children under the Nazis and adults in the GDR. His grandad's passion was jazz. Sanctioned for playing records to his friends at school things got better in the early post-war years and then jazz became unGerman again. Grandad sees things getting worse today.
Three Centimetres - Four girls, friends, take a ride on a ferris wheel in Beirut. Their chat and banter is mostly about sex. One comes out as gay.
Bo & Mei - A recently bereaved Chinese runs a dry cleaning business. He forbids his son Bo to help his sister do the dishes. He insists Bo drinks beer with his meal. But Bo likes lipstick and is found in a négligée left for cleaning by a client who objected to the Chinese music playing in the shop. When she returns to collect it they turn up the volume.
Homage to Kobane - The camera sweeps around the ruins of Kobane while a voiceover reads a letter written by a girl fighter to her mum while she waited for death.
Good Girls - A St. Trinian's style group of girls is rounded up reluctantly for a photograph, one of them skirtless. The director, asked what inspired her said it was her nice pink jersey and lo that became part of the school uniform.
After the screening of Meeting Jim half a dozen of those involved in making the film lined up and declared their devotion to him. Jim Haynes is clearly a man with charm which for someone who says that his main interest in life is and always has been people is not surprising. In Edinburgh he helped galvanise cultural life in the 60s with his bookshop in Charles Street, the founding of the Traverse, the Writers Conference and so on. When he moved south it was our loss and London's gain. He then moved on again to make Paris his home and maintained his people centred philosophy with his legendary Sunday dinners.
All of this and more is capably told in the film which seamlessly knits together archive footage (including an interview with a onetime philosophy tutor of mine) and new material. That new material is in fact a couple of years old since the editing process stretched over two years.
For those new to Jim Haynes the film will be a revelation. For those familiar with his story it is a confirmation of the debt owed to him by many, not least those of us here in Edinburgh.
My last film of the day was a well told and gripping story of intergenerational conflict in a Pakistani family living in Norway. From the opening scene in which the heroine runs through snowy streets to ominous music to meet whatever curfew has been imposed on her you know that bad things will happen.
And so they do. Surprised in an embrace with a local lad she is carted off to Pakistan and dumped on relatives. Naturally she rebels but after a while seems to be softening and indeed developing feelings for a young man I took to be a cousin. Alas disaster strikes when she and cousin fall foul of relationship norms. Dad come out from Norway and invites her to commit suicide. She doesn't but auntie refuses to keep her so back to Norway she goes. She lies to the child protection agency about her treatment by her family to protect them.
Their next move is to organise marriage to a suitable chap in Canada. Suitable from the family's point of view. But for Nisha this is the last straw. Without giving anything away I can say that the film ends hopefully.
I may have made What Will People Say sound a bit trite but it's not. You need to do a bit of suspending disbelief. You'd very probably hide your involvement with friends and activities that your conservative family would disapprove of but very improbably smuggle a boyfriend into your bedroom even if it was just for a cuddle.
That aside the conflict is real as are the dilemmas that young immigrants find themselves in and the film deals with all of it sympathetically and movingly.
First on the agenda was a set of seven short films grouped under the title Where's Your Skirt? That was in fact a line plucked from one of the films. It was not altogether representative of the group though four were about girls and one featured a boy in a negligée. I guess it just appealed to the programmer. Brief notes so I don't forget. They were all well crafted and interesting whether lighthearted or serious.
Winter with Umma - Thirty year old still a student in Edinburgh while her brother is getting married back home in Korea. Can a visit from her mum help her into adulthood whatever that is?
Salt and Sauce - A girl unhappily stuck helping in the family chip shop while friends escape to college or the big bad world. She likes taking photographs. A middle-aged lady customer admires them and reveals that she once toured as a provocatively clad magician's assistant. Get up and do what makes you happy is her advice.
Some of these Days - A young German interviewing his grandparents who were school children under the Nazis and adults in the GDR. His grandad's passion was jazz. Sanctioned for playing records to his friends at school things got better in the early post-war years and then jazz became unGerman again. Grandad sees things getting worse today.
Three Centimetres - Four girls, friends, take a ride on a ferris wheel in Beirut. Their chat and banter is mostly about sex. One comes out as gay.
Bo & Mei - A recently bereaved Chinese runs a dry cleaning business. He forbids his son Bo to help his sister do the dishes. He insists Bo drinks beer with his meal. But Bo likes lipstick and is found in a négligée left for cleaning by a client who objected to the Chinese music playing in the shop. When she returns to collect it they turn up the volume.
Homage to Kobane - The camera sweeps around the ruins of Kobane while a voiceover reads a letter written by a girl fighter to her mum while she waited for death.
Good Girls - A St. Trinian's style group of girls is rounded up reluctantly for a photograph, one of them skirtless. The director, asked what inspired her said it was her nice pink jersey and lo that became part of the school uniform.
After the screening of Meeting Jim half a dozen of those involved in making the film lined up and declared their devotion to him. Jim Haynes is clearly a man with charm which for someone who says that his main interest in life is and always has been people is not surprising. In Edinburgh he helped galvanise cultural life in the 60s with his bookshop in Charles Street, the founding of the Traverse, the Writers Conference and so on. When he moved south it was our loss and London's gain. He then moved on again to make Paris his home and maintained his people centred philosophy with his legendary Sunday dinners.
All of this and more is capably told in the film which seamlessly knits together archive footage (including an interview with a onetime philosophy tutor of mine) and new material. That new material is in fact a couple of years old since the editing process stretched over two years.
For those new to Jim Haynes the film will be a revelation. For those familiar with his story it is a confirmation of the debt owed to him by many, not least those of us here in Edinburgh.
My last film of the day was a well told and gripping story of intergenerational conflict in a Pakistani family living in Norway. From the opening scene in which the heroine runs through snowy streets to ominous music to meet whatever curfew has been imposed on her you know that bad things will happen.
And so they do. Surprised in an embrace with a local lad she is carted off to Pakistan and dumped on relatives. Naturally she rebels but after a while seems to be softening and indeed developing feelings for a young man I took to be a cousin. Alas disaster strikes when she and cousin fall foul of relationship norms. Dad come out from Norway and invites her to commit suicide. She doesn't but auntie refuses to keep her so back to Norway she goes. She lies to the child protection agency about her treatment by her family to protect them.
Their next move is to organise marriage to a suitable chap in Canada. Suitable from the family's point of view. But for Nisha this is the last straw. Without giving anything away I can say that the film ends hopefully.
I may have made What Will People Say sound a bit trite but it's not. You need to do a bit of suspending disbelief. You'd very probably hide your involvement with friends and activities that your conservative family would disapprove of but very improbably smuggle a boyfriend into your bedroom even if it was just for a cuddle.
That aside the conflict is real as are the dilemmas that young immigrants find themselves in and the film deals with all of it sympathetically and movingly.
Sunday, June 24, 2018
A good day at the Film Festival yesterday; top marks to two out of four, less enthusiasm for the others.
In the closing years of the 19th century and the opening years of the 20th Frank Brinton and his wife Indiana from Washington Iowa toured their Entertainment Show. For the small communities they visited it was a magical trip out of their everyday world through lantern slides and moving pictures.
The Brintons kept everything, not just the slides and films but projectors, playbills, press cuttings account books, the lot. Thousands of items that lurked in a number of basements until over thirty years ago they came into the hands of Michael Zahs a teacher in Washington sprung from generations of Iowa farming stock.
Saving Brinton is a fascinating documentary that as the directors said at the Q&A started out with its focus on the film history material which Michael strove to rouse interest in over all those years but which became more the background to a story about Michael and the community of rural Iowa in which he is rooted.
It's a wonderful film and Michael's a wonderful chap but he seems to have only one tie, seen several times in the film and worn on his visit to the festival. It features Grant Wood's painting American Gothic. Not a pretty tie in my view.
On to a second excellent film. This time it's a Scottish movie about a highland hunting trip that goes horribly wrong. That's as much of the plot as it's fair to give away The trailer reveals too much in my opinion so don't look for it. The film is either a thrilling drama or a dramatic thriller but either way it's intense, quite scary and undeniably dark. Called Calibre you can see it on Netflix from Friday.
It features in quite large letters in the credits a girl I recruited to do costumes for a show I directed some years ago. She was at art college at the time and it's lovely to see she's making her mark in an intensely precarious industry so a sixth star to the film for that.
I was looking forward to seeing Ornette: Made in America. Otherwise I wouldn't have a bought a ticket would I? 1959 is regarded as one of, if not the most creative year in jazz history. Ornette Coleman's free jazz came onto the scene then and although it's definitely not my favourite flavour I was interested in learning more about the man and his work. I don't think I did although the film features Coleman's work for jazz players and symphony orchestra, Skies of America, that I'd like to hear in its entirety.
It's not a new documentary by any means (1985) and was in the festival as part of their celebration of American women, the woman in question being the director, Shirley Clarke. She's billed as an experimental filmmaker and this is not a straightforward talking heads documentary though it's more the technical treatment that at times got in the way of my enjoyment. There are sections with very rapid cross-cutting and in particular a monologue by Coleman against a dark background bombarded by coloured lights going off and on that I found quite dizzying. Indeed I was just a little unsteady on my legs as I left the cinema, rather like coming ashore after a few days at sea.
I have mixed feelings about Never Leave Me. The film is about Syrian child refugees in Turkey. That's potentially both a politically charged and a tearjerking subject but the director takes no political position whatsoever. Politics is never mentioned. Nor is it a polemic on how terrible their plight is and how something must be done with illustrations and soundtrack to match.
It shows the children behaving in what might be considered a "normal" way, playing, squabbling, forming friendships, bunking off school and so on against the ever present background of the loss of home and parents. The one thing they don't lose is hope.
As the end credits tell us these are real children playing themselves and so far there are no happy endings.
Why are my feelings mixed? I think the film for me falls unsteadily between drama and documentary. There is not enough examination and analysis of the situation to be a satisfactory documentary but neither is there a strong enough rise and fall in the development of a storyline to make it a satisfactory drama. Don't let me put you off seeing it though.
In the closing years of the 19th century and the opening years of the 20th Frank Brinton and his wife Indiana from Washington Iowa toured their Entertainment Show. For the small communities they visited it was a magical trip out of their everyday world through lantern slides and moving pictures.
The Brintons kept everything, not just the slides and films but projectors, playbills, press cuttings account books, the lot. Thousands of items that lurked in a number of basements until over thirty years ago they came into the hands of Michael Zahs a teacher in Washington sprung from generations of Iowa farming stock.
Saving Brinton is a fascinating documentary that as the directors said at the Q&A started out with its focus on the film history material which Michael strove to rouse interest in over all those years but which became more the background to a story about Michael and the community of rural Iowa in which he is rooted.
It's a wonderful film and Michael's a wonderful chap but he seems to have only one tie, seen several times in the film and worn on his visit to the festival. It features Grant Wood's painting American Gothic. Not a pretty tie in my view.
It features in quite large letters in the credits a girl I recruited to do costumes for a show I directed some years ago. She was at art college at the time and it's lovely to see she's making her mark in an intensely precarious industry so a sixth star to the film for that.
I was looking forward to seeing Ornette: Made in America. Otherwise I wouldn't have a bought a ticket would I? 1959 is regarded as one of, if not the most creative year in jazz history. Ornette Coleman's free jazz came onto the scene then and although it's definitely not my favourite flavour I was interested in learning more about the man and his work. I don't think I did although the film features Coleman's work for jazz players and symphony orchestra, Skies of America, that I'd like to hear in its entirety.
It's not a new documentary by any means (1985) and was in the festival as part of their celebration of American women, the woman in question being the director, Shirley Clarke. She's billed as an experimental filmmaker and this is not a straightforward talking heads documentary though it's more the technical treatment that at times got in the way of my enjoyment. There are sections with very rapid cross-cutting and in particular a monologue by Coleman against a dark background bombarded by coloured lights going off and on that I found quite dizzying. Indeed I was just a little unsteady on my legs as I left the cinema, rather like coming ashore after a few days at sea.
I have mixed feelings about Never Leave Me. The film is about Syrian child refugees in Turkey. That's potentially both a politically charged and a tearjerking subject but the director takes no political position whatsoever. Politics is never mentioned. Nor is it a polemic on how terrible their plight is and how something must be done with illustrations and soundtrack to match.
It shows the children behaving in what might be considered a "normal" way, playing, squabbling, forming friendships, bunking off school and so on against the ever present background of the loss of home and parents. The one thing they don't lose is hope.
As the end credits tell us these are real children playing themselves and so far there are no happy endings.
Why are my feelings mixed? I think the film for me falls unsteadily between drama and documentary. There is not enough examination and analysis of the situation to be a satisfactory documentary but neither is there a strong enough rise and fall in the development of a storyline to make it a satisfactory drama. Don't let me put you off seeing it though.
Thursday, June 21, 2018
It's the season of summer concerts from local bands and Dunedin's, in which I will be playing, is on in a couple of weeks. Cue for publicity --
Some of my friends play in the Edinburgh Concert Band and I went to their Summer Sparkler. It was an excellent concert and not the least of their treats was the world premiere of a piece called Step-Up written for them under the Adopt a Composer scheme .
Naturally the composer, Gaynor Barradell, was there and gave us a rundown on the inspiration for the piece and its form. "It's an imaginary journey by bike through Edinburgh's streets, dodging traffic, pedestrians, tourists groups, spilling across steps and closes, reaching the Scottish Parliament for some trickery on the concrete walls and benches, then climbing the stoney paths of Arthur's Seat, reaching the summit, legs and lungs burning from sheer exertion."
Well I got the bit about traffic at the beginning but I can't honestly say that I would have interpreted the rest unaided and indeed even aided as I was. But I enjoyed the music. I thought it was an exhilarating and tuneful piece. I loved the final moments when one of the percussion players whirled a rope around her head. It may have been a special musical rope I suppose rather than any old rope. But in either case the quiet sound it produced was surely meant to represent the slow revolutions of a tired bicycle wheel.
Rehearsals for the Fringe show I'm in are underway. It's called Skirt and is a feminist drama. Cue for more publicity but I don't have a flyer yet so I'll direct you straight to the Fringe booking system
https://tickets.edfringe.com/whats-on/skirt
I play a somewhat unlikeable party functionary up from London to persuade my party's leader in Holyrood to ignore her loyalties to family and friends and come south to head up the opposition in Westminster. It's a lovely part. I'm not copying anyone in particular but am taking inspiration from various slimy creatures from all parties.
That brings me to a book recommendation. The Lies of the Land by Adam Macqueen is a wonderful compendium of the prevarications, half truths and downright lies of politicians and other state actors at home and abroad. It ranges from Churchill to Trump and is a must read for the sceptical and the trusting alike.
The Film Festival got underway last night and its opening screening of Puzzle was graced by the presence of its director, Marc Turtletaub, and its star, Kelly Macdonald. It's a super film, really warm, gentle and funny in which Macdonald's character moves from being the quiet housewife whose every action is directed towards the comfort of her husband and sons to being a person realising her innate talents and expressing her individuality.
Naturally the composer, Gaynor Barradell, was there and gave us a rundown on the inspiration for the piece and its form. "It's an imaginary journey by bike through Edinburgh's streets, dodging traffic, pedestrians, tourists groups, spilling across steps and closes, reaching the Scottish Parliament for some trickery on the concrete walls and benches, then climbing the stoney paths of Arthur's Seat, reaching the summit, legs and lungs burning from sheer exertion."
Well I got the bit about traffic at the beginning but I can't honestly say that I would have interpreted the rest unaided and indeed even aided as I was. But I enjoyed the music. I thought it was an exhilarating and tuneful piece. I loved the final moments when one of the percussion players whirled a rope around her head. It may have been a special musical rope I suppose rather than any old rope. But in either case the quiet sound it produced was surely meant to represent the slow revolutions of a tired bicycle wheel.
Rehearsals for the Fringe show I'm in are underway. It's called Skirt and is a feminist drama. Cue for more publicity but I don't have a flyer yet so I'll direct you straight to the Fringe booking system
https://tickets.edfringe.com/whats-on/skirt
I play a somewhat unlikeable party functionary up from London to persuade my party's leader in Holyrood to ignore her loyalties to family and friends and come south to head up the opposition in Westminster. It's a lovely part. I'm not copying anyone in particular but am taking inspiration from various slimy creatures from all parties.
That brings me to a book recommendation. The Lies of the Land by Adam Macqueen is a wonderful compendium of the prevarications, half truths and downright lies of politicians and other state actors at home and abroad. It ranges from Churchill to Trump and is a must read for the sceptical and the trusting alike.
The Film Festival got underway last night and its opening screening of Puzzle was graced by the presence of its director, Marc Turtletaub, and its star, Kelly Macdonald. It's a super film, really warm, gentle and funny in which Macdonald's character moves from being the quiet housewife whose every action is directed towards the comfort of her husband and sons to being a person realising her innate talents and expressing her individuality.
Thursday, June 14, 2018
I was invited to a reception held last night in the Scottish Parliament to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the Young Lyceum. I'm sure I owe my invitation to my sons whose Christmas presents a couple of years ago were replaced by a donation to help fund the participation at the Lyceum of youngsters who would otherwise not have had the means.
We were ushered through the building to the garden lobby where various politicos and journalists buzzed about on their everyday business.
Then some MSP chappie whose name I didn't catch and whose face I didn't recognise kicked it off, apologising for the absence of the culture minister who was doubtless at a higher level beanfeast.
David Greig with the assistance of a couple of youngsters made a brief speech. We were then treated to a performance of sorts by the multitudes of the Young Lyceum disposed about the steps leading down from the chamber.
It wasn't a lavish affair but there was enough vino and vol au vent to ensure I left on the tipsy side, though not too tipsy to forget to recover my mini swiss army knife wrested from my keyring by the security staff when I arrived.
There were a couple of old friends there and through them I made some pleasant new acquaintances so all in all it was a good evening.
We were ushered through the building to the garden lobby where various politicos and journalists buzzed about on their everyday business.
Then some MSP chappie whose name I didn't catch and whose face I didn't recognise kicked it off, apologising for the absence of the culture minister who was doubtless at a higher level beanfeast.
David Greig with the assistance of a couple of youngsters made a brief speech. We were then treated to a performance of sorts by the multitudes of the Young Lyceum disposed about the steps leading down from the chamber.
It wasn't a lavish affair but there was enough vino and vol au vent to ensure I left on the tipsy side, though not too tipsy to forget to recover my mini swiss army knife wrested from my keyring by the security staff when I arrived.
There were a couple of old friends there and through them I made some pleasant new acquaintances so all in all it was a good evening.
Tuesday, June 12, 2018
This is the lovely Tulchan Lodge in Perthshire where I spent a recent weekend with friends. It took my taxi driver a while to find it but near midnight it was located thanks to a tipsy weekender on the lookout for a stripper.
Here's the view from the garden.
The same hills at sunset.
Nearby was Loch Freuchie which some of us walked round on the Saturday afternoon. Seven miles delightful walking in warm sunshine (or a somewhat tiring trek for the less fit amongst us) .
Tuesday, May 08, 2018
Insurance policies nowadays on renewal have to display prominently the current premium as well as the premium required to renew the policy.
I got a renewal letter recently that showed those two figures side by side. Old premium £37 odd, new premium £84 odd.
I rang, declared my dissatisfaction with a 220% increase and suggested a rethink. After a bit of haggling I got a new offer of £44.67.
That's miles better but it's still a 20% increase for no good reason.
I got a renewal letter recently that showed those two figures side by side. Old premium £37 odd, new premium £84 odd.
I rang, declared my dissatisfaction with a 220% increase and suggested a rethink. After a bit of haggling I got a new offer of £44.67.
That's miles better but it's still a 20% increase for no good reason.
Monday, April 30, 2018
There have been three very different saxophone gigs in the last few weeks.
YolanDa Brown chose to visit Kirkcaldy as one of only two Scottish dates on what she declared was a world tour celebrating her ten years as a professional player . I fear she may not come back since the Adam Smith auditorium wasn't more than about a third full. .
She's a very chatty, lively and engaging performer and and those who were there were enthusiastic and enjoyed her mix of jazz, funk and what she calls posh reggae. She even managed to get us all up to ..... well dance would be too grand a description. Let's say sway more or less rhythmically.
Here's an audience doing a bit better than we did.
Back in Edinburgh Sir James MacMillan's new saxophone concerto was paired with Glazunov's and played by the SCO with Amy Dickson as soloist. MacMillan's concerto has three movements each inspired by a Scottish musical form. The first by marches, strathspeys and reels, the second by Gaelic psalm singing and the third by jigs.
I certainly enjoyed it but can't share it with you since I was too law-abiding for surrepticious recording and it hasn't made it onto Youtube yet. However there are three short Youtube videos of MacMillan and Dickson discussing the piece. There is a tiny snatch of music in the second of those so here it is.
Youtube has lots of versions of Glasunov's concerto. Here's one in which the orchestra is the SCO. It's from the World Saxophone Congress in St Andrews three years ago.
The third event was the last in the jazz series at St James church by Leith Links, or the hall thereof since the church itself appears to be boarded up. Tommy Smith and Brian Molley appeared in previous months. This time it was the wonderful tenor player Konrad Wiszniewski and New Focus, the group he runs with the equally wonderful pianist Euan Stevenson. In fact it was the jazz quartet subset of the group which in its entirety includes a string quarte. Here they are at Whighams one Sunday evening.
YolanDa Brown chose to visit Kirkcaldy as one of only two Scottish dates on what she declared was a world tour celebrating her ten years as a professional player . I fear she may not come back since the Adam Smith auditorium wasn't more than about a third full. .
She's a very chatty, lively and engaging performer and and those who were there were enthusiastic and enjoyed her mix of jazz, funk and what she calls posh reggae. She even managed to get us all up to ..... well dance would be too grand a description. Let's say sway more or less rhythmically.
Here's an audience doing a bit better than we did.
Back in Edinburgh Sir James MacMillan's new saxophone concerto was paired with Glazunov's and played by the SCO with Amy Dickson as soloist. MacMillan's concerto has three movements each inspired by a Scottish musical form. The first by marches, strathspeys and reels, the second by Gaelic psalm singing and the third by jigs.
I certainly enjoyed it but can't share it with you since I was too law-abiding for surrepticious recording and it hasn't made it onto Youtube yet. However there are three short Youtube videos of MacMillan and Dickson discussing the piece. There is a tiny snatch of music in the second of those so here it is.
Youtube has lots of versions of Glasunov's concerto. Here's one in which the orchestra is the SCO. It's from the World Saxophone Congress in St Andrews three years ago.
The third event was the last in the jazz series at St James church by Leith Links, or the hall thereof since the church itself appears to be boarded up. Tommy Smith and Brian Molley appeared in previous months. This time it was the wonderful tenor player Konrad Wiszniewski and New Focus, the group he runs with the equally wonderful pianist Euan Stevenson. In fact it was the jazz quartet subset of the group which in its entirety includes a string quarte. Here they are at Whighams one Sunday evening.
Saturday, April 14, 2018
During the six months or so that I spent in Cairo I suffered only one nasty stomach upset. It was caused by something I ate in the Nile Hilton.
A rather more serious upset featured in the excellent The Nile Hilton Incident. A cabaret singer gets her throat slit in the hotel and the policeman called on to handle the case finds himself working rather against the tide of police and political corruption that he usually swims in and profits from. He's cynical and careworn but somehow his revulsion at this particular crime with its sexual and political nastiness gets under his skin and despite the sticks and carrots deployed to persuade him to leave well alone he pursues the truth. The plot wanders a bit towards the end but the film is a satisfying and absorbing thriller whose Cairene setting on the eve of the 2011 revolution I particularly relished.
I likewise relished the setting of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie in 1930s Edinburgh. Not that I was there then, but the flavour of the times persists in the imagination if not in fact. In the cinema it's fun spotting the locations, hearing the accents, admiring the performances and at least in my case remembering with pleasurable nostalgia the Kitwe production of the play.
A rather more serious upset featured in the excellent The Nile Hilton Incident. A cabaret singer gets her throat slit in the hotel and the policeman called on to handle the case finds himself working rather against the tide of police and political corruption that he usually swims in and profits from. He's cynical and careworn but somehow his revulsion at this particular crime with its sexual and political nastiness gets under his skin and despite the sticks and carrots deployed to persuade him to leave well alone he pursues the truth. The plot wanders a bit towards the end but the film is a satisfying and absorbing thriller whose Cairene setting on the eve of the 2011 revolution I particularly relished.
I likewise relished the setting of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie in 1930s Edinburgh. Not that I was there then, but the flavour of the times persists in the imagination if not in fact. In the cinema it's fun spotting the locations, hearing the accents, admiring the performances and at least in my case remembering with pleasurable nostalgia the Kitwe production of the play.
Wednesday, April 04, 2018
I made the very rational decision just before the Beast from the East struck not to keep a car any longer. It's very handy to have one sitting at the bottom of the stair for when the travel bug bites but for the most part, given where I live and how I spend my time, it's money down the drain.
The first test of this brave new public transport only world came over the Easter weekend when I was due to take my sax to a country house in the Trossachs. Research showed that it would be possible to get very close by train and bus but a lot of hanging about between stages would be involved so I decided to take a taxi from Stirling station. Not cheap but just the job.
Coming back the weather was frightful. Before Leith Street closed for the St James redevelopment I could nip over the road on leaving the station and get on a bus that would drop me at my door. Now it's either walk home or go up to George Street for a bus. I didn't fancy either prospect in the driving wintry rain.
I first thought to catch a tram at Haymarket. Current roadworks there mean no bus passes the station going my way but the tram does. Then I had what I thought was a brainwave. Why not get the tram from Edinburgh Park since unlike Haymarket train and tram are on the same level. Genius.
Not genius as it turned out since I had to cross the train lines which meant going up, along and down. It didn't help that while I did so a tram arrived, stood for a bit then headed for town leaving me to the inadequate shelter of the tramstop for seven minutes. My good humour was restored somewhat when at York Place I got onto a bus within seconds of leaving the tram.
But I will get off at Haymarket next time - no double entendre intended.
As it happens there was a consultation event at the library yesterday about the potential extension of the tram line to Newhaven. It can't happen soon enough for me. I felt it might be a bit cheeky to suggest they move the proposed Macdonald Road stop from the town side of the junction to my side but I did offer the thought that with all the construction going on at Granton they should take the line on to there from Newhaven.
Of course there will be inconvenence on Leith Walk again when work gets under way. (I can't believe that they will decide not to do it.) The proposed construction plan means that for eighteen months I'll have to walk from an Easter road bus stop when coming home from town since buses will run on Leith Walk only towards town. Not a major inconvenience. Indeed probably a healthy one.
The first test of this brave new public transport only world came over the Easter weekend when I was due to take my sax to a country house in the Trossachs. Research showed that it would be possible to get very close by train and bus but a lot of hanging about between stages would be involved so I decided to take a taxi from Stirling station. Not cheap but just the job.
Coming back the weather was frightful. Before Leith Street closed for the St James redevelopment I could nip over the road on leaving the station and get on a bus that would drop me at my door. Now it's either walk home or go up to George Street for a bus. I didn't fancy either prospect in the driving wintry rain.
I first thought to catch a tram at Haymarket. Current roadworks there mean no bus passes the station going my way but the tram does. Then I had what I thought was a brainwave. Why not get the tram from Edinburgh Park since unlike Haymarket train and tram are on the same level. Genius.
Not genius as it turned out since I had to cross the train lines which meant going up, along and down. It didn't help that while I did so a tram arrived, stood for a bit then headed for town leaving me to the inadequate shelter of the tramstop for seven minutes. My good humour was restored somewhat when at York Place I got onto a bus within seconds of leaving the tram.
But I will get off at Haymarket next time - no double entendre intended.
As it happens there was a consultation event at the library yesterday about the potential extension of the tram line to Newhaven. It can't happen soon enough for me. I felt it might be a bit cheeky to suggest they move the proposed Macdonald Road stop from the town side of the junction to my side but I did offer the thought that with all the construction going on at Granton they should take the line on to there from Newhaven.
Of course there will be inconvenence on Leith Walk again when work gets under way. (I can't believe that they will decide not to do it.) The proposed construction plan means that for eighteen months I'll have to walk from an Easter road bus stop when coming home from town since buses will run on Leith Walk only towards town. Not a major inconvenience. Indeed probably a healthy one.
Friday, March 30, 2018
The weather was nothing like the warm sunny Spring of Kronplatz last year. The mountain tops were visible on only one day, being shrouded in mist and cloud otherwise, but only one day was truly horrible. I gave my thighs a rest that day and took the train down to Innsbruck.
I've been in and out of the airport several times but never before into the city. There is some lovely baroque architecture to admire in the old town and it probably looks even more lovely when the sun shines on it.
They were getting themselves geared up for Easter. Giant eggs were on display in various parts of the city centre. Here's one:-
Back home I've seen a couple of films, the rather odd-ball The Square which takes the mickey out of modern art and the wonderful Cabaret which gives us Liza Minelli's so vulnerable and so determined Sally Bowles against the the background of the rise of the Nazi party. I saw a production of the stage musical not long ago but the film transcends it in every way. Joel Gray as the Kit Kat club MC is an impossible act to follow.
I had the pleasure of reading Benedick at the readthrough of the Grads upcoming Fringe show Much Ado about Nothing. I was in the show the last time the Grads did it as a lowly henchman of the villain. Obviously I shan't be playing Benedick this time round unless David adds a geriatric touch to his slimmed down re-genderd version but it was fun to read the part.
Something else I read the other day amused me. On the side of a box containing an electric toaster was the boast that the gadget had a "climate sensing toasting cycle". So whatever happens with global warming we can rest assured that our breakfast will be safe.
Saturday, March 17, 2018
There was an article in the Evening News yesterday about the new concert hall to be built on the site of the office block behind Dundas House in St. Andrew Sqare.
It was complete with a natty artist's impression of the circular auditorium ringed with stacked balconies. My objective when it opens will be to locate the seat nearest to where my office was when I worked for RBS.
It was complete with a natty artist's impression of the circular auditorium ringed with stacked balconies. My objective when it opens will be to locate the seat nearest to where my office was when I worked for RBS.
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
The pesky pigeons survived snowmageddon and continued their attempts to set up home on my balcony. They managed to lay one egg which I swiftly removed and we then entered into a war. As soon as they found a little corner in which to nestle I deployed an obstacle.
They were very persistent. The balcony is now criss-crossed by silver tape that is claimed to frighten them but doesn't really, although it impedes their movement. It's also strewn with upturned flowerpots and other obstacles that leave no sheltered spot a bird can rest in. The right way up flowerpot that received the egg now boasts wooden slats poking up out of the soil and just itching for a pigeon to try lowering its bum onto them.
I'm praying they've got the message because I've exhausted my gamut of defensive measures.
Encouraged by Claire's rave review and the wish to try what sounded like Aldous Huxley's "feelies" I went to see Black Panther. It wasn't a bad film as far as Boys Own Paper adventures go and the visual effects were impressive. The pitch and yaw seats, blasts of air and sprinklings of water were fun. I missed a smell effect but am assured that's because my sense of smell wasn't up to the job. I don't think Huxley would have been entirely satisfied but it was enough for me. For once anyway. I fear that the experience would quickly get boring so don't expect to try it very often. Plus it's hideously expensive.
I enjoyed a wonderful SCO concert and was impressed as was this reviewer by just how much the musicians were enjoying themselves, It bodes well for Francois Leveux's return visits. I've put them in my diary.
The second Jazz at St James concert was equally rewarding. Brian Molley and his quartet played a very generous two hour-long sets, mostly his own compositions in a contemporary jazz style with a tinge of the other gained from the quartet's travels in India and elsewhere. Here they are in Bangalore last year.
They were very persistent. The balcony is now criss-crossed by silver tape that is claimed to frighten them but doesn't really, although it impedes their movement. It's also strewn with upturned flowerpots and other obstacles that leave no sheltered spot a bird can rest in. The right way up flowerpot that received the egg now boasts wooden slats poking up out of the soil and just itching for a pigeon to try lowering its bum onto them.
I'm praying they've got the message because I've exhausted my gamut of defensive measures.
Encouraged by Claire's rave review and the wish to try what sounded like Aldous Huxley's "feelies" I went to see Black Panther. It wasn't a bad film as far as Boys Own Paper adventures go and the visual effects were impressive. The pitch and yaw seats, blasts of air and sprinklings of water were fun. I missed a smell effect but am assured that's because my sense of smell wasn't up to the job. I don't think Huxley would have been entirely satisfied but it was enough for me. For once anyway. I fear that the experience would quickly get boring so don't expect to try it very often. Plus it's hideously expensive.
I enjoyed a wonderful SCO concert and was impressed as was this reviewer by just how much the musicians were enjoying themselves, It bodes well for Francois Leveux's return visits. I've put them in my diary.
The second Jazz at St James concert was equally rewarding. Brian Molley and his quartet played a very generous two hour-long sets, mostly his own compositions in a contemporary jazz style with a tinge of the other gained from the quartet's travels in India and elsewhere. Here they are in Bangalore last year.
Wednesday, March 07, 2018
Sherlock Holmes has been stuck in a storage cupboard somewhere but the Paolozzi pieces have been put in the gardens at Hillside Crescent/London Road and very lovely they look there. The contemplation chairs are a welcome addition.
Pity about the Picardy Place trees but the Council has a two for one replanting plan which sounds good. The reason given for axeing them now is that it had to be done before the bird nesting season got underway. I synpathise. The pigeons who nested on my balcony last year have been doing their best to move in again and I've been fighting back. I haven't seen them for a few days so perhaps the Beast from the East got them. It's an ill wind and all that..
Saturday, March 03, 2018
The snow has so far caused the cancellation of two concerts I had tickets for. A blessing in disguise really since it meant that I didn't have to venture out into the cold night but could stay comfortably at home. The major danger is that I will run out of milk for my breakfast cereal before the supermarkets have their supplies restored.
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
Instead of coming straight home on Sunday I went on to Glasgow to an SNJO concert at the Conservatoire. It was a good decision because the concert was brilliant. Tommy Smith had arranged Peter and the Wolf for the band plus a classical flautist since as he explained in a pre-concert chat none of his reed section could play the flute well enough. Liz Lochhead had written a new text with a mildly Scottish flavour and it was delivered in bravura style by Tam Dean Burn. Playing the piano was Makoto Ozone, a Japanese jazzman who has worked with the SNJO before and who had created the second work played, a jazz version of Carnival of the Animals. I loved it.
Tuesday, February 27, 2018
I've spent a lot of time in the last couple of weeks in front of my TV drinking in the thrills and spills of the Winter Olympics. I loved it all but am unlikely to emulate the teeniest, weeniest Olympic manouevre when I get onto the slopes in Austria next month.
One of the events I enjoyed most was the figure skating and coincidentally or not the film I, Tonya which deals with the notorious attack on an American skater to prevent her taking part in the Lillehammer games in 1994 was showing at the Cameo. Tonya Harding was banned from competitive skating for life because of her involvement. The film paints a picture of Harding's upbringing by an unloving, fiercely pushy mother and her physically abusive marriage which inspires a great deal of sympathy for her, or it did in this spectator.
I've seen more films recently in a bid to maximise the benefits of my Cameo membership before it runs out. They are asking what seems to me too much for renewal this year. One was another abrasive mother daughter relationship, fictional this time, entertainingly told in Ladybird complete with happy ending. While in Three Billboards outside Ebbing Missouri the daughter is already dead and the black comedy is the tale of how the mother tries to force the cops to get off their butts and find her killer. It's very funny.
I wasn't so keen on Phantom Thread, despite it being lauded by the critics. While it's very beautiful and well acted and all that it was a bit dull.
The Grads had a couple of shows in the SCDA one-act competition this month and I managed to see them both and enjoyed them both and they came first and third which must be the best result we've had for some time. I'm in the Grads production of Macbeth which is now in rehearsal though so far it's been focussed on jaw, jaw, jaw Luckily I missed the session in which we were asked to associate a song with our character (in my case characters since I'm two) and blether about various other odds and sods. I'm all for getting on with the action and drawing out character and relationships and meaning in the process.
That's on in May. One of our Fringe shows will be a new play called Skirt written by Claire and it had its first airing at a readthrough last week. She's tried quite successfully to pack a multitude of what we might loosely describe as women's issues into a piece intended to run for an hour and twenty minutes. Men do get a look in with some nice parts.
One of the events I enjoyed most was the figure skating and coincidentally or not the film I, Tonya which deals with the notorious attack on an American skater to prevent her taking part in the Lillehammer games in 1994 was showing at the Cameo. Tonya Harding was banned from competitive skating for life because of her involvement. The film paints a picture of Harding's upbringing by an unloving, fiercely pushy mother and her physically abusive marriage which inspires a great deal of sympathy for her, or it did in this spectator.
I've seen more films recently in a bid to maximise the benefits of my Cameo membership before it runs out. They are asking what seems to me too much for renewal this year. One was another abrasive mother daughter relationship, fictional this time, entertainingly told in Ladybird complete with happy ending. While in Three Billboards outside Ebbing Missouri the daughter is already dead and the black comedy is the tale of how the mother tries to force the cops to get off their butts and find her killer. It's very funny.
I wasn't so keen on Phantom Thread, despite it being lauded by the critics. While it's very beautiful and well acted and all that it was a bit dull.
The Grads had a couple of shows in the SCDA one-act competition this month and I managed to see them both and enjoyed them both and they came first and third which must be the best result we've had for some time. I'm in the Grads production of Macbeth which is now in rehearsal though so far it's been focussed on jaw, jaw, jaw Luckily I missed the session in which we were asked to associate a song with our character (in my case characters since I'm two) and blether about various other odds and sods. I'm all for getting on with the action and drawing out character and relationships and meaning in the process.
That's on in May. One of our Fringe shows will be a new play called Skirt written by Claire and it had its first airing at a readthrough last week. She's tried quite successfully to pack a multitude of what we might loosely describe as women's issues into a piece intended to run for an hour and twenty minutes. Men do get a look in with some nice parts.
Sunday, February 11, 2018
I could give you a day by day account of my holiday in Tenerife but let me save a few thousand words by posting some pictures instead.
A lorryload of bananas spotted when out walking
Something of a cloudy day but it was perfectly warm and the sand perfectly delightful if you don't mind the colour.
It even snowed one day but only at 12,000 feet.
One of the floats in the Three Kings procession. Sweets were sprayed liberally over the crowd. A "shortcut" back to my hotel ended up in a taxi ride two hours later.
Here are the extraordinary jagged ranges of spent volcanic peaks that I remember vividly passing as we sailed into Santa Cruz en route home from Kenya in 73.
I couldn't get enough pictures of gorgeous waves breaking on the rugged rocks that make up the coastline.
In contrast a path through a forest in the mountains.
Flowers in the aptly named Orchid Garden in El Puerto. This is the garden of a private house built by a Scottish wine merchant in 1730. It's been in British hands ever since and lots of household names have stayed there, Oscar Wilde and Agatha Christie amongst them.
This chap's picture is pinned up somewhere in the garden. I discovered that he was the founder of an industrial empire in Tenerife that persists to the present day. He arrived from Greenock aged 17 in 1816 and flourished.
These two articles give the lowdown.
The Hamilton Heritage
The Scottish Origins of the Hamilton family
In contrast a path through a forest in the mountains.
Flowers in the aptly named Orchid Garden in El Puerto. This is the garden of a private house built by a Scottish wine merchant in 1730. It's been in British hands ever since and lots of household names have stayed there, Oscar Wilde and Agatha Christie amongst them.
These two articles give the lowdown.
The Hamilton Heritage
The Scottish Origins of the Hamilton family
It's a beautiful place. I'll be back.
Saturday, January 06, 2018
Unfortunately for those getting outdoor toys the winter sun has bowed out in favour of winter rain so they'll have to be content to whizz around indoors to the annoyance of their parents and the detriment of the furniture.
Wednesday, January 03, 2018
Arrived in sunny Tenerife yesterday and here's the view I woke up to this morning when I walked out onto the balcony of my hotel room. Rather splendid, so long as the volcano keeps quiet. Though on second thoughts it would be splendid to see an eruption.
It's good to be in a position to unwind after the activities and indulgences of Christmas and New Year, indulgences mostly of an eating and drinking nature. I had an excellent birthday lunch in the High Street before heading for Keswick where I ate several large and tasty meals over a period of four days in the company of Fiona, Connor and Ewan (for the first time in a few years) plus Ben, Amelia, Julian, Maureen, Claire and Patrick.
My next stop was Stratford upon Avon but the rail connections are such that it was easier to come back to Edinburgh, spend the night at home and set off next day than to go directly from Keswick.
Given the chaos on the network at the same time of year I experienced a couple of years ago and with Connor's "have a good journey" ringing in my ears as he dropped me at Penrith my spirits were dimmed when the first thing I saw on entering the station was a display announcing that my train was cancelled.
After a few words with the guy at the desk I settled down grumpily for an hour's wait. But ten minutes or so later another passenger waving his phone about said "cancelled?. According to this (wave of phone) it's running, five minutes late but running.". And do it was. Grumps gone and home in good time.
I was going to Stratford to see the RSC's dramatisation of Robert Harris's trilogy about Cicero. I had very much enjoyed the novels (and others by Harris who knows how to weave a good historical tale) and could see that putting them on stage (or on TV, is that to come?) would be tricky but potentially rewarding.
Indeed it was a great show. Six hours not counting intervals spread over two evenings and yet large chunks left out, particularly of the first novel. I was briefly unsympathetic to part of the second evening when I felt there was rather a lot of running about to little effect but otherwise I have nothing but praise for the whole enterprise. The trip was well worthwhile.
I'm almost tempted to go back to see their Macbeth but it's going to be broadcast to cinemas so I may save time and money by booking a comfy seat at the Cameo. There are a lot of Macbeths coming up in 2018, including a Grads production which was unaccountably missing from the Guardian's enumeration of them the other day. I hope to get a part in that one.
It's good to be in a position to unwind after the activities and indulgences of Christmas and New Year, indulgences mostly of an eating and drinking nature. I had an excellent birthday lunch in the High Street before heading for Keswick where I ate several large and tasty meals over a period of four days in the company of Fiona, Connor and Ewan (for the first time in a few years) plus Ben, Amelia, Julian, Maureen, Claire and Patrick.
My next stop was Stratford upon Avon but the rail connections are such that it was easier to come back to Edinburgh, spend the night at home and set off next day than to go directly from Keswick.
Given the chaos on the network at the same time of year I experienced a couple of years ago and with Connor's "have a good journey" ringing in my ears as he dropped me at Penrith my spirits were dimmed when the first thing I saw on entering the station was a display announcing that my train was cancelled.
After a few words with the guy at the desk I settled down grumpily for an hour's wait. But ten minutes or so later another passenger waving his phone about said "cancelled?. According to this (wave of phone) it's running, five minutes late but running.". And do it was. Grumps gone and home in good time.
I was going to Stratford to see the RSC's dramatisation of Robert Harris's trilogy about Cicero. I had very much enjoyed the novels (and others by Harris who knows how to weave a good historical tale) and could see that putting them on stage (or on TV, is that to come?) would be tricky but potentially rewarding.
Indeed it was a great show. Six hours not counting intervals spread over two evenings and yet large chunks left out, particularly of the first novel. I was briefly unsympathetic to part of the second evening when I felt there was rather a lot of running about to little effect but otherwise I have nothing but praise for the whole enterprise. The trip was well worthwhile.
I'm almost tempted to go back to see their Macbeth but it's going to be broadcast to cinemas so I may save time and money by booking a comfy seat at the Cameo. There are a lot of Macbeths coming up in 2018, including a Grads production which was unaccountably missing from the Guardian's enumeration of them the other day. I hope to get a part in that one.
Monday, December 25, 2017
Tuesday, December 19, 2017
I'd like to claim that they were all the same aperture and exposure etc but that's a bit too technical and anyway I mucked about a little with the camera settings and don't know what's what. That's the problem with being an ungifted amateur.
So the year is slipping towards Christmas and there have been the inevitable Christmas concerts including my own. This year we played in Old St Paul's Church rather than in the hall and friends in the audience thought the sound quality better. From the depths of the band you can't really tell. I went to hear another local wind band the following evening in Greyfriars. I thought the quality of their playing superior to ours but they fell down compared to us in not providing lashings of free mulled wine.
Though in fact we were a bit short in the lashings stakes. I left it somewhat too late to join the queue and got some only through the charity of those already served.
The Grads got into Christmas spirit of sorts with their production of Reckless. It's not about Christmas as such but it's set at Christmas. I was at the readthrough some months ago and thought it rather a weird and unwieldy affair, decided not to audition for it but was very pleasantly surprised when I went to see it. They'd made it a very entertaining piece. Played in the round it was propelled along by a troupe of Christmas elves who whisked bits of set on and off, pushed a couple around in an open car and generally added to the fun. I still thought it an odd piece but they definitely made a silk purse out of it, paricularly the final quite moving scene which brought out a tragic quality beneath the zany humour.
Tommy Smith is acknowledged as a great jazz performer but he's also a ccomposer of note and this month saw his most ambitious project to date. Spirit of Light drew together the jazz singer Kurt Elling, Capella Nova, players from the SNJO and a number of other instrumentalists to present the words of writers as diverse as Liz Lochhead and Meister Eckhart in a Christmas celebration that is both secular and sacred. I heard it within the lofty walls of St Mary's Episcopalian Cathedral which complemented perfectly the style of the work. It was excellent.
Wednesday, November 29, 2017
Amongst the plethora of events I attended several. They both entertained and educated. I learnt that there is a Roman fort in Bearsden, that the Jacobites at Culloden were not wielding claymores but firing the same sort of muskets as their foes, that Napoleon's main problem was an inability to stop when the going was good and much more.
What I expected to learn at a talk about King Alfred was the truth about the cakes, but they weren't even mentioned. I didn't dare sully the fairly academic atmosphere by raising the issue in the Q&A.
The talks were a bit like the Fringe audiencewise although the audience were never outnumbered by the cast (usually only one) when I was present though some came damn close. The best attended event to which I'd say a hundred or so turned up was a double act with Alec Salmond and Tom Devine.
In the first half Devine probed Salmond's journey to and through his political life. With many amusing digressions and comments on the political personalities he had come across on the way we heard about his grandad's influence, his reason for choosing to go to the not overwhelmingly Scottish university of St Andrews and his various electoral campaigns.
In the second half Salmond took questions from the audience and dealt supremely well with all of them. He finished off with a hilarious impersonation of Ricky Fulton's Reverend Jolly that made me regret very much that I didn't see his Fringe show. He's clearly a comedian manqué.
He'll be back at the Fringe next year but this time in a more serious vein talking about some Scots who are not as well known as he believes they should be. James Connolly and Thomas Muir are two amongst those he intends to discuss. I'll definitely try to be there.
The other Salmond activity that has aroused controversy and that he stoutly defended is his RT interview series. I haven't seen any of them but I've set up my TV to record them from now on. The first one I should see will be the St Andrew's night show. You could hardly choose one more appropriate.
History of another sort hit the Traverse bar this evening with the launch of the Scottish Jazz Archive. This is a project to gather and curate memories and memorabilia of the Scottish jazz scene from its earliest days (thought to be the 1930s) to the present day and beyond. If you can fight your way through the adverts you can read a little more about it in this Scotsman article and a website will eventually appear because this is intended to be a digital archive rather than a physical one.
Saturday, November 18, 2017
As well as beautiful trees Autumn is giving us lovely skies like this one that I paused to take a picture of on the Mound. As I stood there I was approached by a tourist looking for information. He was sporting a dashing black baseball cap with a masonic logo in gold on it. He explained that he had just come from the Freemasons Hall in George Street and was now looking for Lodge No. 1 which he had been told was in St. John St. near the Mound somewhere.
Well I happened to know that Lodge No. 1 was in Hill St. and the nearest St John's I could think of was in Corstorphine. It took my smart phone to convince him about Lodge No. 1 and he set off back the way he had come.
But I hadn't been smart enough to check for a St. John St. because it exists and runs from Holyrood Rd. to the Canongate and it's there that you find St John's Chapel the home of Lodge No. 2 which is surely what he wanted. Must brush up my guiding skills.
There's been lots on in the last few weeks. I enjoyed seeing Trainspotting on the stage. It's an absolutely tragic tale really and I think that the enjoyement comes in much the same way as it does from a show like Downton Abbey in that you are looking in on a totally foreign way of life before going home to safely and comfortably back into your own.
I also enjoyed Cabaret. I've heard the music often enough and in Kitwe bits of it featured in some of our own cabaret type shows and I saw the film years ago but I think this is the first time I've seen the stage show in its entirety.
I was intrigued by the opening which featured a giant camera shutter, surely a nod to John Van Druten's play I am a camera, itself a dramatisation of Isherwood's Goodbye to Berlin stories. I remember the play being presented in Kirkcaldy when I was in my early teens. I remember it mostly because of my mum and dad exchanging glances as they declared that it was "not suitable" so I'm not sure that I ever saw it though I daresay my desire to do so was heightened.
The amazing Carlos Acosta was here with his troupe of Cuban dancers in a wonderful show made up as most dance shows are of a number of pieces. I enjoyed them all but the finale in which twelve dancers threw neon lit litre bottles of water to and fro in a bewildering, complex and ever changing pattern while themselves being seldom still was breath-taking, though maybe it was stretching the definition of dance a wee bit.
I'd seen Ballet Rambert earlier in the month which got five stars from Claire who actually saw it twice. She persuaded Phil to come along the second time but despite being reasonably enthusiastic it wasn't enough to bring him out for Carlos.
Psycho was screened in the Usher Hall with the RSNO playing the soundtrack. It's still a pretty gripping film and as good a thriller as many more modern ones. Unusually I saw another film with a live soundtrack, this time only one man with a piano and a set of percussive blocks. This was the oldest extant South African film, made in 1916, called Die Voortrekkers. I suppose we might call it a docu-drama but essentially it's a propaganda celebration of the northwards movement of the Boers seeking to carve out a home away from British control and their battle in 1838 against the Zulus at Blood River. It was fascinating stuff full of that wild-eyed overacting that seems to pervade silent movies.
Another part of the British Empire has cropped up in a number of talks at the National Library that I've enjoyed, all of them featuring the exploits of Scots better known in India than they are here. A chap called James Taylor from Kincardineshire has a giant statue in Sri Lanka where he is revered as a major force in developing the tea industry. (Funnily enough in Forres I came across the Falconer Museum named after two brothers one of whom was instrumental in tea development in India.)
Then a talk about five Fraser brothers who went off to India one after another to seek fame and fortune, with mixed results it has to be said. An interesting book has been written using their letters found in an old trunk in the family home.
Finally Alexander Burnes from Montrose, a descendant of Robert Burns, who was in essence a British spy in what has come to be known as The Great Game when we feared Russian interference in India. Lionised in his lifetime then according to his biographer the Victorians later downplayed him and airbrushed him out of history because of his racy private and not so private life. His great claim to fame for my sons will be that he features in the very first Flashman book.
Sunday, October 29, 2017
The trees in Princes Street Gardens were resplendent in Autumn colours as I passed through on my way to see The Death of Stalin.
The film is a brilliant bit of comedy forged from the not at all funny jockeying for power amongst Khrushchev, Malenkov et al after uncle Joe kicked the bucket.
I was a bit disappointed with the National Theatre's much vaunted production of Hedda Gabler. I'm not too sure why. The Festival Theatre was not full and the mostly empty set stretched over the entire width of its very large stage. Both factors I thought worked against the creation of the sort of atmosphere that the drama needs. They might also have given some thought to the sightlines. Not seeing the action on one side of the stage was annoying.
Our Fathers at the Traverse had a good theme to examine. How to relate to those you love when you don't share their beliefs. Two atheist sons of clerics in this case. Alas I found their examination somewhat boring.
Thank God then for The Real Thing which gave me a thoroughly enjoyable evening in the theatre. Stoppard writes with wit and energy whirling the English language around like an F1 driver. A man who cares as much as I do for the proper treatment of the gerund and would never say less when fewer is required gets my vote every time. But the play is not all shiny verbal surface. There is content. His portrayal of the struggle to handle emotions and relationships and come out bruised but unbeaten moves even more than it entertains.
I was moved too by Losing Vincent. The publicity for this film was all about the vast team of artists who had worked on the painting of every frame. So I went out of curiosity to see that, and indeed the form of the film is impressive giving us Van Gogh's glorious brush strokes throughout. But the story of Armand's search for the truth about Van Gogh's death (whether that search really took place or not) was fascinating and painted a moving portrait of a lonely man who like other artists never saw his genius recognised.
I was down by Silverknowes golf course the other day, not to play though I must renew acquaintance with it sometime, but drawn out by the fine Autumn weather for a stroll along to Cramond. It was windy enough to persuade me to put my cap in my pocket for fear of losing it but the sun shone, the views were magnificent and I felt jolly healthy at the end of it.
I was a bit disappointed with the National Theatre's much vaunted production of Hedda Gabler. I'm not too sure why. The Festival Theatre was not full and the mostly empty set stretched over the entire width of its very large stage. Both factors I thought worked against the creation of the sort of atmosphere that the drama needs. They might also have given some thought to the sightlines. Not seeing the action on one side of the stage was annoying.
Our Fathers at the Traverse had a good theme to examine. How to relate to those you love when you don't share their beliefs. Two atheist sons of clerics in this case. Alas I found their examination somewhat boring.
Thank God then for The Real Thing which gave me a thoroughly enjoyable evening in the theatre. Stoppard writes with wit and energy whirling the English language around like an F1 driver. A man who cares as much as I do for the proper treatment of the gerund and would never say less when fewer is required gets my vote every time. But the play is not all shiny verbal surface. There is content. His portrayal of the struggle to handle emotions and relationships and come out bruised but unbeaten moves even more than it entertains.
I was moved too by Losing Vincent. The publicity for this film was all about the vast team of artists who had worked on the painting of every frame. So I went out of curiosity to see that, and indeed the form of the film is impressive giving us Van Gogh's glorious brush strokes throughout. But the story of Armand's search for the truth about Van Gogh's death (whether that search really took place or not) was fascinating and painted a moving portrait of a lonely man who like other artists never saw his genius recognised.
I was down by Silverknowes golf course the other day, not to play though I must renew acquaintance with it sometime, but drawn out by the fine Autumn weather for a stroll along to Cramond. It was windy enough to persuade me to put my cap in my pocket for fear of losing it but the sun shone, the views were magnificent and I felt jolly healthy at the end of it.
Thursday, October 12, 2017
Elgin cathedral is a ruin but it has lots of fascinating bits and pieces on display. My favourite was the stone figure of an archbishop from the top of his tomb. The label on its case explains that it would have been highly coloured when first created but of course the paint has not survived the centuries. However at the press of a button and by lighting magic the colour is restored.
Colour was pertinent to the touring production of A Streetcar Named Desire that was on at the Kings last week. The play is set New Orleans and its main protagonist, Blanche, is a lonely alcoholic remnant of plantation society who looks back with regret on the days that there was a coloured girl to cope with drudgery. She has been forced to throw herself on the mercy of her sister in a white working class area of the city. There is talk of niggers in the text. We are clearly in a racially divided society. It seems perverse then to practice colour blind casting in that context. But they did.
I had other slight reservations about the show but the fact that the first half ran for an hour and fifty minutes and didn't seem a jot too long testifies to it's being a pretty good production.
The Traverse runs its Play, Pie and a Pint series of short lunchtime plays twice a year. I took a raincheck on the Spring series but I've seen the first two of their Autumn offering and they've both been excellent.
Pleading presents a young couple in an Asian jail, heroin having been found in their luggage as they arrived from the Australian leg of their backpacking holiday. Too bad it's one of those places where they execute drug smugglers. A local lawyer is trying to help them. They plead ignorance. They tell one story. They tell another. Aspects of their relationship are revealed. Through the lawyer the prosecution offer a deal. Plead innocent and die or plead guilty and spend life in the distinctly unappetising jail. They have differing views. The truth comes out. Serious stuff.
Death figured also, not surprisingly given its title, in Love and Death in Govan and Hyndland but here with much comic effect. It's a one man show in which the actor, Stephen Clyde, brilliantly takes us through his mother's terminal diagnosis and death with love and humour. He moves skilfully from character to character; mother, doctor, senior consultant, auntie, brother and himself never putting a foot wrong. It's very funny and ultimately life affirming.
Cockpit is a brave revival by The Lyceum of a brave play that hasn't been seen since its first airing in 1948. There's a sympathetic and sensitive review here.
I've had the great pleasure of listening to The Rite of Spring not once but twice within the last week. The RSNO played it at the Usher Hall and then the orchesta of Scottish Ballet at the Festival Theatre. They of course were playing to accompany dancers in what I thought was a superb bringing into flesh of the music even though I couldn't see the logic that led Christopher Hampson from the first part of his interpretation to the second. Claire didn't share my enthusiasm and has written amusingly about it.
In other ways I've been busy: a talk about tartan, a talk about a Scottish contribution to the tea industry in Sri Lanka, the museum's Jacobite exhibition, the City Art Centre's Edinburgh Alphabet exhibition, a couple of Spanish films (one good one not), a French film (enjoyable but about which I can recall more or less nothing), a round of golf, an afternoon of sax ensemble, a U3A Italian group (good fun), the start of an adult education Gaelic course (which promises to be entertaining but challenging). These plus my regular band and sax lesson have kept me from being bored.
Colour was pertinent to the touring production of A Streetcar Named Desire that was on at the Kings last week. The play is set New Orleans and its main protagonist, Blanche, is a lonely alcoholic remnant of plantation society who looks back with regret on the days that there was a coloured girl to cope with drudgery. She has been forced to throw herself on the mercy of her sister in a white working class area of the city. There is talk of niggers in the text. We are clearly in a racially divided society. It seems perverse then to practice colour blind casting in that context. But they did.
I had other slight reservations about the show but the fact that the first half ran for an hour and fifty minutes and didn't seem a jot too long testifies to it's being a pretty good production.
The Traverse runs its Play, Pie and a Pint series of short lunchtime plays twice a year. I took a raincheck on the Spring series but I've seen the first two of their Autumn offering and they've both been excellent.
Pleading presents a young couple in an Asian jail, heroin having been found in their luggage as they arrived from the Australian leg of their backpacking holiday. Too bad it's one of those places where they execute drug smugglers. A local lawyer is trying to help them. They plead ignorance. They tell one story. They tell another. Aspects of their relationship are revealed. Through the lawyer the prosecution offer a deal. Plead innocent and die or plead guilty and spend life in the distinctly unappetising jail. They have differing views. The truth comes out. Serious stuff.
Death figured also, not surprisingly given its title, in Love and Death in Govan and Hyndland but here with much comic effect. It's a one man show in which the actor, Stephen Clyde, brilliantly takes us through his mother's terminal diagnosis and death with love and humour. He moves skilfully from character to character; mother, doctor, senior consultant, auntie, brother and himself never putting a foot wrong. It's very funny and ultimately life affirming.
Cockpit is a brave revival by The Lyceum of a brave play that hasn't been seen since its first airing in 1948. There's a sympathetic and sensitive review here.
I've had the great pleasure of listening to The Rite of Spring not once but twice within the last week. The RSNO played it at the Usher Hall and then the orchesta of Scottish Ballet at the Festival Theatre. They of course were playing to accompany dancers in what I thought was a superb bringing into flesh of the music even though I couldn't see the logic that led Christopher Hampson from the first part of his interpretation to the second. Claire didn't share my enthusiasm and has written amusingly about it.
In other ways I've been busy: a talk about tartan, a talk about a Scottish contribution to the tea industry in Sri Lanka, the museum's Jacobite exhibition, the City Art Centre's Edinburgh Alphabet exhibition, a couple of Spanish films (one good one not), a French film (enjoyable but about which I can recall more or less nothing), a round of golf, an afternoon of sax ensemble, a U3A Italian group (good fun), the start of an adult education Gaelic course (which promises to be entertaining but challenging). These plus my regular band and sax lesson have kept me from being bored.
Tuesday, October 03, 2017
The Lyceum opened its season with What Shadows, a play from Birmingham Rep about Enoch Powell. Ian McDiarmid's performance as Powell was terrific but the play was somewhat diffuse and went round in circles that were not always very interesting. A tighter focus would have been welcome but I couldn't have been more gripped by the famous rivers of blood speech.
The Attic Collective's third and last show of the year was the eagerly awaited (by me) The Threepenny Opera. So eagerly awaited was it that I sacrificed the first evening of a saxophone weekend to see it. Alas I was a wee bit disappointed. Some of the performances were exceptionally good. McHeath, Polly Peachum and Mr Peachum in particular, and the on-stage band were great and I have to admit that the presentation's use of the full stage, the boxes and bits of the stalls was ingenious. But. Maybe it was just me.
The following morning I rose at dawn and headed for The Burn in Edzell to take part in the rest of the saxophone weekend. I'd guessed that breakfast would be around 8 and arrived in time for that but I was in fact an hour early. No matter, I rested. The weekend went very well. The Burn is lovely and proved much more comfortable in a bright September than it was in my previous visit in a cold and dismal February. After the Sunday afternoon session instead of coming home I headed North of which more later.
I came home a week later in time for a super concert by the SNJO. They were celebrating the music of Django Reinhart so they'd cut down on brass and added guitars, violin and accordion to the line-up. A friend who was there felt that the two musical forces didn't combine well and came over as two separate units but I couldn't disagree more. One feature of particular interest to me was that the accordion was played by Karen Street. She's a lady whose arrangements for saxophone groups I've played quite often, mostly down south.
That concert was packed (helped partly by the SNJO's policy of free seats for school groups) unlike another fascinating concert by the RSNO. This was of modern Chinese music by a chap called Xiaogang Ye who was there in person. Although one piece made extensive use of a dozen or more Chinese percussion instruments his work is very much in tune with Western styles. Indeed comparing his music with Benjamin Britten's Sea Interludes which was the only non Chinese piece on the programme I felt they could have come from the same pen.
It was a very enjoyable concert but the most sparsely attended I've ever seen in the Usher Hall. The stalls could not have been much more than a quarter full and from where I was I could see about one third of the dress circle in which sat one solitary punter. It was a real shame but there were quite a few Chinese in the audience, including the wife of a chap I met at the Napier jazz summer school, so at least the local Chinese community supported it.
My destination when I left The Burn was Banff. I wanted to take an indirect touristy route but had forgotten to bring a map. So I fiddled about with Google maps on my phone to decide on intermediate points and then connected up my GPS gadget. That led me round and round the mulberry bush before I eventually found myself on a recognisable route to Aboyne. It was pretty bleak and hilly and at one point my clutch was emitting burning smells and the engine was revving like fury while I crept up a hill. I didn't relish being stuck for the night out here (no phone signal!) but fortunately after a recovery period at the top of a hill progress was resumed without incident and I rolled into my hotel just in time to eat before the kitchen closed. (They don't dine late in these parts.)
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| Banff Beach |
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| Protecting Banff Town Hall |
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| Duff House |
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| Typical Landscape on Buchan Coast |
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| Despite appearances a working trawler |
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| Fraseburgh Beach |
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