Full marks as usual to The Grads for tackling difficult and challenging plays. Their offerings in the Fringe this year are The Witch of Edmonton and Death and the Maiden.
The Witch requires the director to guide a sixteen strong cast through the tangled undergrowth of a 400 year-old tale that's he's already had to cut to fit a time slot. It's a tale of witchcraft, belief in the devil, bigamy and murder with a daft laddie sub-plot thrown in.
Despite some excellent characterisations and imaginative staging it didn't quite come off for me, failing to generate the atmosphere of tension and fear that I think it needs. With its awkward doors and undisguised function room appearance the venue doesn't help take us back to the world of seventeenth century life and beliefs either.
The action of Death and the Maiden on the other hand takes place in a modern domestic interior for which the venue is fine.
Patricia believes that a chance visitor to the isolated house by the sea that she shares with her husband Gerardo is the doctor who participated in the torture to which she was subjected fifteen years earlier during a period of dictatorship. She determines to take the law into her own hands and wrest a confession from him. Gerardo is appalled. Not only is he a lawyer but has just been appointed to a commission established by the new democratic government to look into the misdeeds of the old regime.
So the stage is set for a debate about justice and revenge, do two wrongs make a right, what value has a forced confession and so on. It's very well done and the question of whether or not he is the man she thinks he is is never resolved. You have to make up your own mind.
Saturday, August 15, 2015
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
No programme was available at Attempts on Her Life so I googled the company to see what I could learn about them. Nothing apart from the fact that they had another production in the Fringe - The River by Jez Butterworth. I enjoyed The Grads production of his Jerusalem a couple of years ago so I thought I'd give this one a whirl.
The play is set inside a fishing shack near a river somewhere. It's a simple stylised set. Doorways are indicated by uprights of unplaned 2x2 timber. A sideboard and cupboard are skeletons only. There are a couple of chairs and a table of the same material with untreated plywood for seats and tabletop.
The two girls who were in Attempts are also in The River but not the men. (Trouble with multi-tasking perhaps.)
When the action starts we see a man and a woman in conversation. They are having a teensy weensy argument. He wants her to go with him out in the moonless night to catch fish. She wants him to admire the sunset with her and then leave her to read her book. He waxes lyrical about fishing and he also tells her he loves her and that she is the only woman he has ever brought to share the tranquility of this spot and its joys. Maybe the love bit wasn't in the first scene but you'll see it was something of a theme.
In the next scene the man is on the phone reporting agitatedly that the woman he's been out fishing with has disappeared when there's a "yoohoo!" from outside and in comes a woman. But it's not the same one.
He tells the cops all is well, tells her that he loves her and that she is the only woman he has ever brought to share the tranquility of this spot and its joys.
She in turn goes out, to have a pee as I remember, and the first one comes back. This sequence is repeated several times but both women ultimately leave him and as the play ends, spoiler alert, a third woman comes in.
Will she be told that he loves her and that she is the only woman he has ever brought to share the tranquility of this spot and its joys? I think so but that's a supposition since fortunately we are allowed to leave the theatre at this point.
It was well enough done but I call that pretty thin material. The rave reviews of other productions of the play in London and New York talk about mystery and ambiguity. Granted we never know whether he's just a serial shagger or a sincere seeker after a perfect soulmate to whom he will be faithful for ever after but I didn't care either way. Maybe the problem is that the actor (no programmes this time either so nameless) isn't the mega man needed for the part.
Always something different on the Fringe. Can you imagine enjoying a show where seven people stand in a line having had their footwear nailed to the floor and sway about very athletically, indeed dance, while four clarinetists play behind them?
No? Well it's surprisingly entertaining. I went with some of my clarinet class to see Correction last night and enjoyed it though not quite as much as the hollering, whooping crowd of supporters behind us did.
The play is set inside a fishing shack near a river somewhere. It's a simple stylised set. Doorways are indicated by uprights of unplaned 2x2 timber. A sideboard and cupboard are skeletons only. There are a couple of chairs and a table of the same material with untreated plywood for seats and tabletop.
The two girls who were in Attempts are also in The River but not the men. (Trouble with multi-tasking perhaps.)
When the action starts we see a man and a woman in conversation. They are having a teensy weensy argument. He wants her to go with him out in the moonless night to catch fish. She wants him to admire the sunset with her and then leave her to read her book. He waxes lyrical about fishing and he also tells her he loves her and that she is the only woman he has ever brought to share the tranquility of this spot and its joys. Maybe the love bit wasn't in the first scene but you'll see it was something of a theme.
In the next scene the man is on the phone reporting agitatedly that the woman he's been out fishing with has disappeared when there's a "yoohoo!" from outside and in comes a woman. But it's not the same one.
He tells the cops all is well, tells her that he loves her and that she is the only woman he has ever brought to share the tranquility of this spot and its joys.
She in turn goes out, to have a pee as I remember, and the first one comes back. This sequence is repeated several times but both women ultimately leave him and as the play ends, spoiler alert, a third woman comes in.
Will she be told that he loves her and that she is the only woman he has ever brought to share the tranquility of this spot and its joys? I think so but that's a supposition since fortunately we are allowed to leave the theatre at this point.
It was well enough done but I call that pretty thin material. The rave reviews of other productions of the play in London and New York talk about mystery and ambiguity. Granted we never know whether he's just a serial shagger or a sincere seeker after a perfect soulmate to whom he will be faithful for ever after but I didn't care either way. Maybe the problem is that the actor (no programmes this time either so nameless) isn't the mega man needed for the part.
Always something different on the Fringe. Can you imagine enjoying a show where seven people stand in a line having had their footwear nailed to the floor and sway about very athletically, indeed dance, while four clarinetists play behind them?
No? Well it's surprisingly entertaining. I went with some of my clarinet class to see Correction last night and enjoyed it though not quite as much as the hollering, whooping crowd of supporters behind us did.
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
Sue McKenzie and Ingrid Sawers drew a big crowd to the very beautiful St Andrews and St Georges West at lunchtime yesterday for a saxophone and piano recital from Bizet to Nyman and beyond. As you would expect the playing was perfect and all four of the main members of the saxophone family; soprano, alto, tenor and baritone were deployed for our delight.
Like Sara Kane's 4.48 Psychosis, which the Grads produced very successfully a few years ago, Martin Crimp's Attempts on her Life does not allocate dialogue to specific characters nor even define what or how many characters there may be. So it's a wonderful vehicle for a theatre company to let their imagination loose on.
This company uses two men and two women dressed in black business wear but barefoot in a black draped set containing only four chairs. Their footwear stands in a neat row at the side. They appear in various combinations and guises in the seventeen scenes of the play, each of which is an attempt to define Anne or Annie or Anya, the name varies. We are led to believe at the start of the play that she has committed suicide. Was she an artist? Was she a porno star? Was she a terrorist? Was she in fact a luxury motor car swishing elegantly along winding Mediterranean roads?
Crimp himself said " Attempts is not political ....but each scene, or attempt, is really an attempt to grab capitalism and really grapple it to the ground, but then it gets up again and it presents another form. So I think the play is a kind of wrestling with the joys and the horrors of capitalism."
That's not a thought that struck me as I watched though I can see what he means. But never mind that. It's a joy to listen to the text and the actors are terrific. Go.
Attempts was in Adam House and I then slipped next door to the Jazz Bar in my more usual role there of punter to hear a dozen Kurt Weill songs sung by an American called Bremner. He seems to have dispensed with a first name, at least professionally. Mack the Knife was there of course but so were songs with lyrics by Ira Gershwin and Ogden Nash to name but two. He was ably supported by piano, double bass and multiple reeds. The latter all being played by the very able Dick Lee going by his Sunday name of Richard. An enjoyable show for cabaret fans with CDs for sale to remember it by. I resisted temptation.
If Attempts on her Life has a meaning under its surface, The Last Hotel, a brand new opera in the EIF, is content to just tell a story. The music is intense, urgent, expectant and the singing matches it. A man, his wife and the other woman meet in a rundown empty hotel. There's a suitably manic hotel porter, silent throughout bar a scream or two, who cleans up, serves food and drink and handily doubles as stage crew while the protagonists twist and turn in their dance of duty, guilt, dreams, life and death advancing via karaoke and buffet to the other woman's suicide.
Sounds pretty grim and it's certainly not a comedy but it's a gripping and exciting ninety minutes proving that contemporary opera is not all bad.
Like Sara Kane's 4.48 Psychosis, which the Grads produced very successfully a few years ago, Martin Crimp's Attempts on her Life does not allocate dialogue to specific characters nor even define what or how many characters there may be. So it's a wonderful vehicle for a theatre company to let their imagination loose on.
This company uses two men and two women dressed in black business wear but barefoot in a black draped set containing only four chairs. Their footwear stands in a neat row at the side. They appear in various combinations and guises in the seventeen scenes of the play, each of which is an attempt to define Anne or Annie or Anya, the name varies. We are led to believe at the start of the play that she has committed suicide. Was she an artist? Was she a porno star? Was she a terrorist? Was she in fact a luxury motor car swishing elegantly along winding Mediterranean roads?
Crimp himself said " Attempts is not political ....but each scene, or attempt, is really an attempt to grab capitalism and really grapple it to the ground, but then it gets up again and it presents another form. So I think the play is a kind of wrestling with the joys and the horrors of capitalism."
That's not a thought that struck me as I watched though I can see what he means. But never mind that. It's a joy to listen to the text and the actors are terrific. Go.
Attempts was in Adam House and I then slipped next door to the Jazz Bar in my more usual role there of punter to hear a dozen Kurt Weill songs sung by an American called Bremner. He seems to have dispensed with a first name, at least professionally. Mack the Knife was there of course but so were songs with lyrics by Ira Gershwin and Ogden Nash to name but two. He was ably supported by piano, double bass and multiple reeds. The latter all being played by the very able Dick Lee going by his Sunday name of Richard. An enjoyable show for cabaret fans with CDs for sale to remember it by. I resisted temptation.
If Attempts on her Life has a meaning under its surface, The Last Hotel, a brand new opera in the EIF, is content to just tell a story. The music is intense, urgent, expectant and the singing matches it. A man, his wife and the other woman meet in a rundown empty hotel. There's a suitably manic hotel porter, silent throughout bar a scream or two, who cleans up, serves food and drink and handily doubles as stage crew while the protagonists twist and turn in their dance of duty, guilt, dreams, life and death advancing via karaoke and buffet to the other woman's suicide.
Sounds pretty grim and it's certainly not a comedy but it's a gripping and exciting ninety minutes proving that contemporary opera is not all bad.
Sunday, August 09, 2015
My qualifications for reviewing a dance programme wouldn't stand up under scrutiny so let me just say that I enjoyed Sylvie Guillem's Life In Progress which she has brought to the EIF in the course of signing off her career with a farewell world tour, and leave it to The Guardian to expose the programme's limitations.
Saturday, August 08, 2015
Chicken according to its full colour, glossy and expensive looking A3 sized poster cum programme is a dark and intruiging (sic) new play. One of the things that intrigues me is how in this age of word processors and desk-top publishing software a spelling mistake like that can see the light of day.
The story revolves around East Anglia having separated itself from the UK. Second homes are being reclaimed by the locals, East Anglians are leaving London's concrete jungle to seek the greenness of their native heath and agreement has been reached with the North and Scotland that they will provide steel and sheep, leaving chicken production to East Anglia. Intriguing.
Most of the action takes place in a chicken processing plant, built where in days gone by witches were put to the ducking stool. The process is described in lurid detail by the chicken processing supervisor who has taken a returning girl and a flask of intoxicating liquor into the plant at night where despite her obvious willingness he avoids having his evil way with her. Intriguing.
His teenage daughter refuses to speak to her parents but regales us with stories of happenings that lead us to suppose her to be a witch. Intriguing.
The chickens escape from their cages and a Hitchcock like Birds situation starts to develop. Intriguing.
Suddenly an actor shouts something which I didn't catch, the lights go out and the audience claps deliriously. Intriguing.
The production values are excellent. The actors are excellent. The performance space is excellent. Any one of the hares started by the script could have been developed to a satisfying conclusion but the play went nowhere. Intriguing.
I went on to the next one, The Bastard Queens. It didn't go anywhere either but that was rather the point.
Four characters are living in a makeshift hovel. We see them pick through a supermarket trolley full of junk, pressing some of it into service, an old umbrella for example or a broken carriage clock that serves as a make believe television set which the two male characters spend a lot of time watching, reliving in their imagination favourite programmes of the past.
We see them ritually distribute unlabelled cans that they have scavenged from somewhere, pull them open and eat the contents with their fingers be they baked beans, peach slices or dog food.
They are it seems survivors of some catastrophe that has wiped out mankind. They argue a lot. They make up. It rains heavily. The sun shines. They argue a lot. They make up. It rains heavily. The sun shines. You get the idea. I forgot. Every so often there is loud music, too loud and then feedback, or maybe it's the rain effect again.
Then a fifth character, a pregnant woman, appears. They are not happy. She will want some of their food. Mutterings. But a child. Could that herald a rebuilding of civilisation? The decision is to look after the woman till the child arrives then.......
Alas after a can full of we must suppose tainted grub there is retching and belly clutching by the mum to be. Our four stick balloons up their jumpers, prance about laughing and joking, prick their balloons and bother the newcomer who dashes off to remove her pregnancy discreetly offstage. I must congratulate costumes. It was very realistic.
It goes on. Fags are found making everyone terribly happy. They fall out over the fags. The stranger is raped - to replace the lost child we assume. There's a general melee at one point with fists flying and falling bodies. It goes on and eventually it stops where it started.
Are there positives? Well it is played throughout with energy, enthusiasm and commitment and it is ten minutes shorter than advertised.
After that the opening flourish of the International Festival was a blessed relief. I stood in the middle of Lothian Road with thousands of others watching colourful projections onto the Usher Hall while the band played. This was The Harmonium Project. I took some pictures but The Guardian's are a million times better.
Weren't we lucky it didn't rain.
The story revolves around East Anglia having separated itself from the UK. Second homes are being reclaimed by the locals, East Anglians are leaving London's concrete jungle to seek the greenness of their native heath and agreement has been reached with the North and Scotland that they will provide steel and sheep, leaving chicken production to East Anglia. Intriguing.
Most of the action takes place in a chicken processing plant, built where in days gone by witches were put to the ducking stool. The process is described in lurid detail by the chicken processing supervisor who has taken a returning girl and a flask of intoxicating liquor into the plant at night where despite her obvious willingness he avoids having his evil way with her. Intriguing.
His teenage daughter refuses to speak to her parents but regales us with stories of happenings that lead us to suppose her to be a witch. Intriguing.
The chickens escape from their cages and a Hitchcock like Birds situation starts to develop. Intriguing.
Suddenly an actor shouts something which I didn't catch, the lights go out and the audience claps deliriously. Intriguing.
The production values are excellent. The actors are excellent. The performance space is excellent. Any one of the hares started by the script could have been developed to a satisfying conclusion but the play went nowhere. Intriguing.
I went on to the next one, The Bastard Queens. It didn't go anywhere either but that was rather the point.
Four characters are living in a makeshift hovel. We see them pick through a supermarket trolley full of junk, pressing some of it into service, an old umbrella for example or a broken carriage clock that serves as a make believe television set which the two male characters spend a lot of time watching, reliving in their imagination favourite programmes of the past.
We see them ritually distribute unlabelled cans that they have scavenged from somewhere, pull them open and eat the contents with their fingers be they baked beans, peach slices or dog food.
They are it seems survivors of some catastrophe that has wiped out mankind. They argue a lot. They make up. It rains heavily. The sun shines. They argue a lot. They make up. It rains heavily. The sun shines. You get the idea. I forgot. Every so often there is loud music, too loud and then feedback, or maybe it's the rain effect again.
Then a fifth character, a pregnant woman, appears. They are not happy. She will want some of their food. Mutterings. But a child. Could that herald a rebuilding of civilisation? The decision is to look after the woman till the child arrives then.......
Alas after a can full of we must suppose tainted grub there is retching and belly clutching by the mum to be. Our four stick balloons up their jumpers, prance about laughing and joking, prick their balloons and bother the newcomer who dashes off to remove her pregnancy discreetly offstage. I must congratulate costumes. It was very realistic.
It goes on. Fags are found making everyone terribly happy. They fall out over the fags. The stranger is raped - to replace the lost child we assume. There's a general melee at one point with fists flying and falling bodies. It goes on and eventually it stops where it started.
Are there positives? Well it is played throughout with energy, enthusiasm and commitment and it is ten minutes shorter than advertised.
After that the opening flourish of the International Festival was a blessed relief. I stood in the middle of Lothian Road with thousands of others watching colourful projections onto the Usher Hall while the band played. This was The Harmonium Project. I took some pictures but The Guardian's are a million times better.
Weren't we lucky it didn't rain.
Friday, August 07, 2015
My Festival going has got going.
First up was an excellent one man show. Out of the hundreds of shows on offer I would never have chosen A Life with the Beatles but thanks to some minor involvement in getting it on the road I had a free ticket so I went.
Lucky me, for it's a production that sparkles. Any monologue is hard to invest with sufficient life to hold your attention for an hour but director and actor between them, not to mention clever and attractive staging, lighting that overcomes the limitations of a poky hotel room and well chosen and precisely placed sound triumph against the odds.
If you are a Beatles fan you'll love it. If like me you are indifferent you'll find it's a fascinating story told with verve and skill well worth an hour of your time.
First up was an excellent one man show. Out of the hundreds of shows on offer I would never have chosen A Life with the Beatles but thanks to some minor involvement in getting it on the road I had a free ticket so I went.
Lucky me, for it's a production that sparkles. Any monologue is hard to invest with sufficient life to hold your attention for an hour but director and actor between them, not to mention clever and attractive staging, lighting that overcomes the limitations of a poky hotel room and well chosen and precisely placed sound triumph against the odds.
If you are a Beatles fan you'll love it. If like me you are indifferent you'll find it's a fascinating story told with verve and skill well worth an hour of your time.
Wednesday, August 05, 2015
One thing I did have arranged was a visit to Glasgow, one of my irregular lunches with Andrew. Not that there is anything untoward or reprehensible about the lunches, it's the frequency that is irregular.
In fact they could be considered praiseworthy since they are preceded or followed by a cultural activity. On this occasion we visited the Science Centre, the adjacent Glasgow Tower and the not very far away Tall Ship.
Of these the Tall Ship has the great merit of being free although they twist your arm for a donation in the guise of an unnecessary guidebook. My advice is to allow your arm to be twisted because you'll enjoy the visit. When you study the panels detailing the work of restoration that re-turned it from a hulk into the noble three-masted beauty that it was when built in 1896 you have to admire the skills, energy and dedication of the team that did it.
If you want to slip into the skin of a sailor of the times you can have a go at swabbing the deck, or twirl the wheel or like me gaze upwards and thank your lucky stars you never were called upon to shimmy up the rigging to frig about with the top gallants in a howling gale.
The ship is mostly about looking but the Science Centre is much more hands on. There is a multitude of buttons to press, handles to turn, touchscreens to prod, peepholes to squint through and the like. If you are ten years old and your parents are prepared to fork out £8.50 for your pleasure you will have a lovely time. I enjoyed the fish and chips for that is where we had lunch.
The Glasgow Tower is adjacent to the Science Centre and indeed joined to it but entry will cost the parents of that ten year old another few quid. Mind you it will take a lot of ten year olds to recover the costs of a building that's been closed for most of its life. Its troubled history is described in this 2013 BBC report where someone calls it an albatross round Glasgow's neck. But only a year later the BBC were reporting that everything was now hunky dory and that's how we found it.
It's a beautiful looking object, an architectural and engineering triumph. There are great views from the top and through the glass walls of the lift as you are beamed up. What's more you get a neat certificate as a souvenir when you come down.
In fact they could be considered praiseworthy since they are preceded or followed by a cultural activity. On this occasion we visited the Science Centre, the adjacent Glasgow Tower and the not very far away Tall Ship.
Of these the Tall Ship has the great merit of being free although they twist your arm for a donation in the guise of an unnecessary guidebook. My advice is to allow your arm to be twisted because you'll enjoy the visit. When you study the panels detailing the work of restoration that re-turned it from a hulk into the noble three-masted beauty that it was when built in 1896 you have to admire the skills, energy and dedication of the team that did it.
If you want to slip into the skin of a sailor of the times you can have a go at swabbing the deck, or twirl the wheel or like me gaze upwards and thank your lucky stars you never were called upon to shimmy up the rigging to frig about with the top gallants in a howling gale.
The ship is mostly about looking but the Science Centre is much more hands on. There is a multitude of buttons to press, handles to turn, touchscreens to prod, peepholes to squint through and the like. If you are ten years old and your parents are prepared to fork out £8.50 for your pleasure you will have a lovely time. I enjoyed the fish and chips for that is where we had lunch.
The Glasgow Tower is adjacent to the Science Centre and indeed joined to it but entry will cost the parents of that ten year old another few quid. Mind you it will take a lot of ten year olds to recover the costs of a building that's been closed for most of its life. Its troubled history is described in this 2013 BBC report where someone calls it an albatross round Glasgow's neck. But only a year later the BBC were reporting that everything was now hunky dory and that's how we found it.
It's a beautiful looking object, an architectural and engineering triumph. There are great views from the top and through the glass walls of the lift as you are beamed up. What's more you get a neat certificate as a souvenir when you come down.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
The summer school gig went off well. The jazz bar was packed but given that there were 28 students to start with it didn't take many friends and family to fill the place up. I doubt that there were any unconnected spectators.
We had been split into four bands at the outset and each band played two tunes. Our band included Scottish music royalty in the shape of Jimmy Shand's great grandson. He wasn't playing the squeeze box. The focus of the week had been on contemporary European jazz and the first tune that we played was the other-wordly From Gagarin's Point of View by the Esbjorn Svensson Trio. It wasn't recorded but here's a clip from the original. Our version was a bit chunkier thanks to the inclusion of three saxophones and I think we played it at a slightly faster tempo.
Our second number was a fast, funky tune made up for the occasion so it has vanished into the mists of time.
I went to a few gigs over the weekend finishing up at a very lively late night session at the Tron Kirk on Sunday by an Edinburgh band called Pocion de Fe who had a good proportion of the audience up and dancing. Hear them on Soundcloud.
Now I'm enjoying the luxury of a week with almost nothing arranged. Bored by Friday?
We had been split into four bands at the outset and each band played two tunes. Our band included Scottish music royalty in the shape of Jimmy Shand's great grandson. He wasn't playing the squeeze box. The focus of the week had been on contemporary European jazz and the first tune that we played was the other-wordly From Gagarin's Point of View by the Esbjorn Svensson Trio. It wasn't recorded but here's a clip from the original. Our version was a bit chunkier thanks to the inclusion of three saxophones and I think we played it at a slightly faster tempo.
Our second number was a fast, funky tune made up for the occasion so it has vanished into the mists of time.
I went to a few gigs over the weekend finishing up at a very lively late night session at the Tron Kirk on Sunday by an Edinburgh band called Pocion de Fe who had a good proportion of the audience up and dancing. Hear them on Soundcloud.
Now I'm enjoying the luxury of a week with almost nothing arranged. Bored by Friday?
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
An excellent fringe benefit of attending the Napier University Jazz Summer School is that you get a free ticket every day for one of that evening's Jazz and Blues Festival shows. You don't get carte blanche but the gigs on offer are first class.
Our own gig, the summer school attendees' that is, is in the Jazz Bar on Friday afternoon. I'm looking forward to it.
Our own gig, the summer school attendees' that is, is in the Jazz Bar on Friday afternoon. I'm looking forward to it.
Monday, July 20, 2015
Way back in the day Ghent was a pretty rich and important settlement in Flanders and it's much the same today. I had a whistlestop tour on Friday morning en route for Dunkirk. It's got some absolutely wonderful medieval architecture of which it was well nigh impossible to take a decent picture because of the combination of two factors. Firstly it was hard to get a shot that was not marred by the network of cables supplying power to the trams. Secondly the town on my visit was infested by beer tents, sound stages and trinket stalls all under hectic construction for the annual Ghent festival.
There's obviously a lot of drink and noise involved and the waiter in the cafe where I had a deliciously cool smoothie insisted that I was mad to be missing it, but like the good news in Browning's poem what it's all about was not revealed.
This is one uncluttered shot I managed to get but the Wikipedia article on the town has some splendid pictures. A master of Photoshop must have been at work on them.
Bruges, where I stopped for lunch and a zip around was also made of money back in the thirteen hundreds and it still looks pretty well heeled. Free from tram power lines here's a view of one of its peaceful canals.
They are both lovely cities that I must visit properly some day.
Dunkirk I have never actually visited because my real destination is the weirdly named Loon Plage just by the ferry where a group of cheap hotels awaits the weary traveller. I was bright and early in the ferry queue the following morning but unused as I am to high season crowds I wasn't bright and early enough to catch the intended boat and arrived in Dover an hour and a half later than planned. To add to my frustration I was pulled over by the customs and interrogated for some time. Connor suggested I must have the look of a people smuggler about me.
Fortunately they let me go without ripping my car apart in search of contraband or immigrants and I got up to Keswick without more delay than that caused by real roadworks and those miles of cones that announce roadworks whose existence remains in doubt.
I got home late afternoon the following day and all was in good order except for this poor chap for whom my absence had proved too much.
There's obviously a lot of drink and noise involved and the waiter in the cafe where I had a deliciously cool smoothie insisted that I was mad to be missing it, but like the good news in Browning's poem what it's all about was not revealed.
This is one uncluttered shot I managed to get but the Wikipedia article on the town has some splendid pictures. A master of Photoshop must have been at work on them.
Bruges, where I stopped for lunch and a zip around was also made of money back in the thirteen hundreds and it still looks pretty well heeled. Free from tram power lines here's a view of one of its peaceful canals.
They are both lovely cities that I must visit properly some day.
Dunkirk I have never actually visited because my real destination is the weirdly named Loon Plage just by the ferry where a group of cheap hotels awaits the weary traveller. I was bright and early in the ferry queue the following morning but unused as I am to high season crowds I wasn't bright and early enough to catch the intended boat and arrived in Dover an hour and a half later than planned. To add to my frustration I was pulled over by the customs and interrogated for some time. Connor suggested I must have the look of a people smuggler about me.
Fortunately they let me go without ripping my car apart in search of contraband or immigrants and I got up to Keswick without more delay than that caused by real roadworks and those miles of cones that announce roadworks whose existence remains in doubt.
I got home late afternoon the following day and all was in good order except for this poor chap for whom my absence had proved too much.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Amongst the TV channels available at the Campanile hotel in Vilvoorde on the outskirts of Brussels is BBC1. Nothing so terribly strange about that you may say. Indeed not. But this is BBC1 Scotland.
Another oddity is that not a mi!!ion miles from the French border France is represented by France 24 in its English language incarnation. German guests on the other hand get three of their homeland's domestic channels..
Another oddity is that not a mi!!ion miles from the French border France is represented by France 24 in its English language incarnation. German guests on the other hand get three of their homeland's domestic channels..
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Given the overpowering heat of the last weeks you'd suppose that I'd have welcomed the shower that accompanied my lunch in Dinant yesterday. I didn't. Nor was I very happy with the speed of the service. Fortunately I had a book to hand so wasn't without a means of distraction. The lunch was excellent by the way
I suppose you can't blame Dinant for making the most of their (only?) famous son but you can blame them for the somewhat underwhelming nature of La Maison de Monsieur Sax.
Just as you can blame or praise the European Parliament for their Parlementarium, a media mad exhibition that covers the development of the European movement from the early steps at Franco-German togetherness in the 50s to the present, excluding the Greek crisis I think. I'm sure it's very good if you like that sort of thing. You can even find your MEP and send them an email on the spot via one of the many pokeable screens.
That was one of the two spots where I hopped off the Hop On Hop Off open top tour of Brussels today. I like to use those tours in an unknown city to get an overall impression and then maybe seek out whatever seemed interesting afterwards. But as a onetime president of the Edinburgh University European Society I could hardly bypass the parliament.
The other place I had to get out was the Atomium, and here I also broke my resolution not to bother taking pictures.
I remember how exciting and wonderful I thought it was when it was built for Expo58 and 57 years later seeing it in the flesh as it were it was no less exciting. What an amazing structure allied as it was to the idea of atomic power as a force for peace and progress. Ideals die hard.
Anyway it was only supposed to last the length of the exhibition but was so popular with the public that it stayed. It's been refurbished over the years and now the spheres are covered in stainless steel rather than aluminium so I guess it's even more shiny than the original.
A lift speeds you up to the top in 22 seconds where there's a great view and there are various interesting exhibitions in the different spheres. On the final escalator descent the lights present a dazzling show and I just had to try a snap or two.
I suppose you can't blame Dinant for making the most of their (only?) famous son but you can blame them for the somewhat underwhelming nature of La Maison de Monsieur Sax.
Just as you can blame or praise the European Parliament for their Parlementarium, a media mad exhibition that covers the development of the European movement from the early steps at Franco-German togetherness in the 50s to the present, excluding the Greek crisis I think. I'm sure it's very good if you like that sort of thing. You can even find your MEP and send them an email on the spot via one of the many pokeable screens.
That was one of the two spots where I hopped off the Hop On Hop Off open top tour of Brussels today. I like to use those tours in an unknown city to get an overall impression and then maybe seek out whatever seemed interesting afterwards. But as a onetime president of the Edinburgh University European Society I could hardly bypass the parliament.
The other place I had to get out was the Atomium, and here I also broke my resolution not to bother taking pictures.
I remember how exciting and wonderful I thought it was when it was built for Expo58 and 57 years later seeing it in the flesh as it were it was no less exciting. What an amazing structure allied as it was to the idea of atomic power as a force for peace and progress. Ideals die hard.
Anyway it was only supposed to last the length of the exhibition but was so popular with the public that it stayed. It's been refurbished over the years and now the spheres are covered in stainless steel rather than aluminium so I guess it's even more shiny than the original.
A lift speeds you up to the top in 22 seconds where there's a great view and there are various interesting exhibitions in the different spheres. On the final escalator descent the lights present a dazzling show and I just had to try a snap or two.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
A large carpark near the conservatoire and its adjacent park had been turned into a Guinguette for the day and from dusk onwards an ever increasing crowd gathered there and enjoyed music, drink and dancing in anticipation of the fireworks. And at 10.30 they started.
My phone camera worked overtime to capture the beautiful display but wasn't altogether up to the job. This is one of its best.
My phone camera worked overtime to capture the beautiful display but wasn't altogether up to the job. This is one of its best.
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Today is the last day of the congress and since it's also the 14th of July there is a lot of unconnected celebration going on. I saw the military practising last night for a parade today and this evening there will be a fireworks display.
I saw the soldiers as I was en route to the last big main evening concert. The first was a classical do (all modern and including three work premieres) featuring the Strasbourg Philharmonic and a dozen major sax players. It was a great evening. I particularly enjoyed hearing a Danish girl but never came across her again. Maybe she did only one gig or maybe she played in one of the 410 gigs I didn't get to.
The restaurateurs of Strasbourg had pulled out all the stops to provide wonderful and plentiful drink and nibbles afterwards. I hope enough of the two thousand or so who were in the audience turned up later at their restaurants to make it worth their while. I didn't, but there is still tonight.
Last night was a more eclectic affair, with classical improvisation, world music in the shape of a duo composed of tenor sax and an oriental stringed instrument, jazzmen of various sorts and a tremendous Brazilian big band.
This picture was taken just before the show started. The people on stage are the team who organised the congress making various announcements and little speeches. The pictures I took later of the big band etc need a bit of imagination to interpret but this one is not too bad.
This morning there was a meeting at which the international committee that looks after things was elected. Then there was a presentation by a representative of the city that would like to host the next congress and Zagreb was approved with only a few dissenting votes and no FIFA style shenanigans. I left my Croatian phrasebook with Fiona in Hvar. Time to reclaim it.
After the business came food and drink picnic style in the lovely park that Napoleon Bonaparte laid out for Josephine. A delightful day and it's not over yet. One final open air bash by Sax Assault featuring the sax players from Duran Duran and Supertramp.
Tomorrow I head for Brussels via the home town of who else but Adolphe Sax.
I saw the soldiers as I was en route to the last big main evening concert. The first was a classical do (all modern and including three work premieres) featuring the Strasbourg Philharmonic and a dozen major sax players. It was a great evening. I particularly enjoyed hearing a Danish girl but never came across her again. Maybe she did only one gig or maybe she played in one of the 410 gigs I didn't get to.
The restaurateurs of Strasbourg had pulled out all the stops to provide wonderful and plentiful drink and nibbles afterwards. I hope enough of the two thousand or so who were in the audience turned up later at their restaurants to make it worth their while. I didn't, but there is still tonight.
Last night was a more eclectic affair, with classical improvisation, world music in the shape of a duo composed of tenor sax and an oriental stringed instrument, jazzmen of various sorts and a tremendous Brazilian big band.
This morning there was a meeting at which the international committee that looks after things was elected. Then there was a presentation by a representative of the city that would like to host the next congress and Zagreb was approved with only a few dissenting votes and no FIFA style shenanigans. I left my Croatian phrasebook with Fiona in Hvar. Time to reclaim it.
After the business came food and drink picnic style in the lovely park that Napoleon Bonaparte laid out for Josephine. A delightful day and it's not over yet. One final open air bash by Sax Assault featuring the sax players from Duran Duran and Supertramp.
Tomorrow I head for Brussels via the home town of who else but Adolphe Sax.
Monday, July 13, 2015
These saxophone congresses developed as get togethers of professional musicians, academics, music students and serious amateurs. When Philippe Geiss put forward Strasbourg's offer to hold the event in 2015 he said that he wanted to extend the reach of the congress by incorporating a festival of saxophone music that would engage the less serious amateur and the general public. Hence the name Saxopen, the range of events aimed at the man in the street, the social media presence, internet streaming etc.
Here's one example. A group entertaining lunchers. According to a guy who engaged me in conversation there M. Geiss's concept hit the spot.
The large crowds who queued up to get into the cathedral gig would seem to reinforce that opinion. I got in myself last night. It was a splendid spectacle but I wasn't entirely engaged by the music. It started off well with the deep tones of the contra bass, grand daddy of the sax family, resounding through the building from far behind me, then the solemn procession of twenty six players along the nave who were disposed in various configurations as the piece progressed culminating as you see with most ranged on the steps leading up to the alter and a group on a high gallery behind.
There would have been no heads in the foreground by the way had it not been for the combination of a steward's shuffle, a missing husband and a woman in a wheelchair throwing a wobbly, but that's for another day.
The music? Ah yes. A bit too relentlessly solemn I thought.
Here's one example. A group entertaining lunchers. According to a guy who engaged me in conversation there M. Geiss's concept hit the spot.
The large crowds who queued up to get into the cathedral gig would seem to reinforce that opinion. I got in myself last night. It was a splendid spectacle but I wasn't entirely engaged by the music. It started off well with the deep tones of the contra bass, grand daddy of the sax family, resounding through the building from far behind me, then the solemn procession of twenty six players along the nave who were disposed in various configurations as the piece progressed culminating as you see with most ranged on the steps leading up to the alter and a group on a high gallery behind.
There would have been no heads in the foreground by the way had it not been for the combination of a steward's shuffle, a missing husband and a woman in a wheelchair throwing a wobbly, but that's for another day.
The music? Ah yes. A bit too relentlessly solemn I thought.
Saturday, July 11, 2015
Strasbourg is celebrating the 1000th anniversary of its cathedral. Yes that's three zeros! I don't know whether that's from the date they laid the foundation stone or when they topped it out but it's a very long time and merits much celebration. Unlike many cathedrals one comes across in one's travels this one is not covered in scaffolding so you get a good view, and a crick in the neck because you can't get a long view thanks to the buildings crowding round.
As part of the celebrations there is a saxophone gig inside on three evenings. Tonight was the second and although I queued for forty minutes I didn't get in, and this a building that holds many. I'll have to get there earlier tomorrow. (I did manage to get to eight other gigs though in the course of the day).
However the evening was not entirely wasted. I sat around eating ice cream things till another part of the celebration got going at 10.30. This is a jolly amazing light show in which the sandstone carvings that adorn the building are at one stage coloured in and later appear as silhouettes. I didn't have a camera with me but this tablet managed to capture the essence.
I expect JGH will be able to tell me how it's done. Terribly precise gels?
As part of the celebrations there is a saxophone gig inside on three evenings. Tonight was the second and although I queued for forty minutes I didn't get in, and this a building that holds many. I'll have to get there earlier tomorrow. (I did manage to get to eight other gigs though in the course of the day).
However the evening was not entirely wasted. I sat around eating ice cream things till another part of the celebration got going at 10.30. This is a jolly amazing light show in which the sandstone carvings that adorn the building are at one stage coloured in and later appear as silhouettes. I didn't have a camera with me but this tablet managed to capture the essence.
I expect JGH will be able to tell me how it's done. Terribly precise gels?
Friday, July 10, 2015
Unfortunately technical problems lost it in the air. Possibility joining the Honduran airliner and I have neither time nor energy to reproduce it just yet, if ever. Suffice to say it's magic.
Wednesday, July 08, 2015
A few more meals and get togethers, another round of golf, a poke about in George Sand's little weekend hideaway and French trip phase one was over. I had hoped that at free moments I'd be able to watch bit of Wimbledon but I've been reduced to following matches on The Guardian's text feed. The French TV rights have been sold to a network that nobody seems to have. The BBC internet streams will not show themselves to a device that's outside the UK and even Radio 5 Live cut me off after half an hour with an endlessly repeated mantra about broadcast rights.
The sax congress starts tomorrow afternoon but since it's rather a long way from Gargilesse to Strasbourg I decided to do all but the last couple of hours today and finish the journey after a leisurely breakfast tomorrow. So after a large dishwashing session resulting from last night's excellent and convivial farewell dinner I set off for Besancon and a long and uneventful drive later here I am.
Four years ago when we were clearing out Barbansais I gave some stuff away to friends and was also prevailed upon to remove for safe keeping some stuff that I had intended to leave in the barn for the new owners to do with as they saw fit. These items ended up in one of Jean's outhouses. One item was an old golf trolley that came in useful when I went back a year later and I used it again on this visit.
But Jean had clearly tired of having my junk cluttering up a shed that held such useful items as a broken pinball machine from the 50s, boxes of potentially useful objects and the like. So I filled my boot to bursting point and popped into the dump as I passed by Gueret to dispose of two large golf bags, a set of ancient clubs, a trolley and a vast canvas bag one of a pair that carried my worldly goods from Paris to Barbansais in March 2002.
The sax congress starts tomorrow afternoon but since it's rather a long way from Gargilesse to Strasbourg I decided to do all but the last couple of hours today and finish the journey after a leisurely breakfast tomorrow. So after a large dishwashing session resulting from last night's excellent and convivial farewell dinner I set off for Besancon and a long and uneventful drive later here I am.
Four years ago when we were clearing out Barbansais I gave some stuff away to friends and was also prevailed upon to remove for safe keeping some stuff that I had intended to leave in the barn for the new owners to do with as they saw fit. These items ended up in one of Jean's outhouses. One item was an old golf trolley that came in useful when I went back a year later and I used it again on this visit.
But Jean had clearly tired of having my junk cluttering up a shed that held such useful items as a broken pinball machine from the 50s, boxes of potentially useful objects and the like. So I filled my boot to bursting point and popped into the dump as I passed by Gueret to dispose of two large golf bags, a set of ancient clubs, a trolley and a vast canvas bag one of a pair that carried my worldly goods from Paris to Barbansais in March 2002.
Monday, July 06, 2015
Yesterday was another opportunity to slog round a golf course in sweltering heat. This time it was Les Dryades where I used to be a member. They've cultivated the rough considerably since I was last there, much to the annoyance of many members whose pressure forced a cutback to a degree but it still remains a more challenging course than it was.
Fortunately I buy balls at a price level that allows me to dispense with the tedium of searching in long grass for the regulation five minutes. Unfortunately many of my fellow players are assiduous retrievers of wayward balls however little they may have paid for them.
Anyway the first nine were followed by a relaxing lunch on the terrace before battle commenced again and a good time was had by all. Despite their much vaunted culinary reputation in my experience there is nothing that the French golfer at least enjoys better than a nice steak and chips for his lunch. It was only me who had something else.
Second only is fish and chips which were supplied at the Dutch run open air eatery and campsite where we ended up in the evening. I joined in the fresh from the freezer, battered at at sea feast bemoaning only the lack of brown sauce.
Fortunately I buy balls at a price level that allows me to dispense with the tedium of searching in long grass for the regulation five minutes. Unfortunately many of my fellow players are assiduous retrievers of wayward balls however little they may have paid for them.
Anyway the first nine were followed by a relaxing lunch on the terrace before battle commenced again and a good time was had by all. Despite their much vaunted culinary reputation in my experience there is nothing that the French golfer at least enjoys better than a nice steak and chips for his lunch. It was only me who had something else.
Second only is fish and chips which were supplied at the Dutch run open air eatery and campsite where we ended up in the evening. I joined in the fresh from the freezer, battered at at sea feast bemoaning only the lack of brown sauce.
Friday, July 03, 2015
Unsurprisingly I was at the shorter end of the scale. In this heat even in the shade of the woods it was hard going so I was glad when I hit civilisation again in the shape of a cafe with cold drinks galore.
You'll see from the photo below that Gargilesse is in mourning. For why? Government proposes, as the sheets attached to the sign explain, to reduce the number of administrative units from their current 36,000 to something significantly less but the 36,000 mayors and their legions of councillors see forced amalgamations of communes as anti-democratic.
Decisions they maintain will be taken at levels and by people without local knowledge or respect for local needs and values. Government sees streamlining leading to cost saving and efficiency. We might agree with Sir Roger that there is much to be said on both sides but we know that the tide of history seldom flows in favour of the little people.
So they may as well leave the mourning bands in place since the funeral will surely follow.
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