Tag Archives: Music

It takes two, or more

 

Although pop/rock music has continued to be given a high status in modern culture (shown for example by the extent of regular coverage on the BBC4 channel and the prominence given to the deaths of pop/rock musicians on national TV news) many modern practitioners appear to feel less confident about their individual talents and careers. This, I think, is why they are keen to be described by the media as “writers” as well as singers.

In fact, they are mostly actually co-writers – especially those whose songs are part of the pop/dance genre. People like Beyoncé Knowles, Adele, Pink, Justin Timberlake, Lady Gaga, Emeli Sandé, Katy Perry, Will Young, Sam Smith and even Ed Sheeran. Invariably, on closer research, you find their songs have been co-written with one or more other writers and producers.

The first artists in that genre who gained a huge individual success from such collaboration were probably Madonna and Michael Jackson in the 1980s. In the late 1990s came Robbie Williams.

The pop/rock music industry has in my lifetime produced many people who constructed a significant celebrity on a modest ability – but I do think that Robbie Williams is the most startling example of that phenomenon. A competent singer who left a successful group for a solo career, who was not content with keeping fans returning regularly to concerts but always preferred to play vast open-air venues, yet who has little individual skill with an instrument and whose music has been almost wholly composed throughout a 20 year solo career by other people, such as Guy Chambers and Steven Duffy. His success has been gained mainly through fierce ambition and a distinctive stage and media persona (usually characterised as “cheeky chappie”!) which, I can’t deny, has had an amazingly long appeal.

Pop music has long been a highly collective endeavour because it is often something you start doing when you are young with your pals. In the past most people have had the good grace and sense to become a member of a group if as individuals they have only one or two playing or writing skills. In addition, many successful groups sang and played songs written by non-performing songwriters.

At first I thought it was only the modern generation who tended to exaggerate their abilities. It is certainly true, in these internet-dominated times, that it is much harder to make a decent living from music, even if your work is played on national radio or performed in venues up and down the country. Then I remembered two earlier British artists who have gained solo credit for collaborative success.

Ian Dury was a highly accomplished lyricist and a singer and performer of real personality, but he didn’t play any instruments and all those great tunes from New Boots and Panties and elsewhere were composed by Chaz Jankel and some others. Morrissey’s lyrics, singing and stage presence were a natural ally to the tunes of his school friend guitarist Johnny Marr in the Smiths, but his own musical abilities were modest and the music of his solo career has mostly been composed by Steven Street, Mark Nevin and Alain Whyte.

If you were to analyse the appeal of all these three artists, you might discern some interesting similarities. All working-class boys who have covered shyness and vulnerability with flamboyance. All three have felt outsiders: Morrissey openly gay, Williams clearly bisexual, Dury disabled. All have shown a fondness for older musical traditions and developed their careers through a willingness to blend music-hall, rockabilly and swing with contemporary styles.

Another couple of earlier examples of collaboration, sometimes forgotten. Elton John, for many years in the 1970s probably the biggest star in the world, mostly co-wrote his greatest hits with Bernie Taupin  – although he did write the memorable tunes rather than the more disposable lyrics. David Bowie is regarded even more highly, as one of the great multi-talented auteurs of the pop/rock era, but his “Berlin trilogy” of Low, Heroes and Lodger is usually accepted as being significantly assisted by Brian Eno, the Let’s Dance album by Nile Rodgers and quite a few other tracks through his career co-written with others.

 

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The songwriter who might have been a Nobel laureate?

 

The wise David Hepworth made another shrewd comment when he said that perhaps it was the recently deceased Leonard Cohen rather than Bob Dylan who was the more deserving Nobel Prize winner for literature from the ranks of pop/rock songwriters.

In my own first flush of musical education, I actually read more articles and reviews about Cohen than heard his songs. At that time, as posted earlier,  Joni Mitchell was for me the most accomplished and most literate songwriter and musician. Not until the 1980s did I get my first sustained listen to Cohen with the compilation album which was released in the UK under the title Leonard Cohen’s Greatest Hits. By this time Cohen was gaining renewed attention as an influence on some younger artists like Lloyd Cole and Nick Cave.

Coincidentally, I recall a review of Leonard Cohen’s Greatest Hits in Melody Maker at the time of its original release in 1975. A curious title for a Cohen album, the journalist remarked – his songs had not recently graced the Top 20. Unless, he went on to muse, the title applied to the number of times Cohen “hit” the nail on the head, with his shrewd lyrical analyses and observations? That would make the title highly appropriate.

It is irrefutable that Bob Dylan had a wider and deeper cultural influence during the 1960s and 1970s than did Cohen, so, on that count, he is the more deserving of the Nobel Prize. However, the internet now allows a free and easy listen to all of Cohen’s work, and some of those songs really are brilliant, are they not?

Skilfully and thoughtfully crafted, technically precise and crammed with vivid images. Musical influences from traditional ballads or Jacques Brel or Kurt Weill or others from the earlier 20th century, lyrical influences from the Bible, Bertolt Brecht, Walt Whitman and Federico Garcia Lorca. Imagery which is often not immediately contemporary and therefore timeless. A long list of highlights would come from all periods of Cohen’s career: “Suzanne”, “The Master”, “Hey That’s No Way to say Goodbye”, “Sisters of Mercy”, “The Story of Isaac”, “The Partisan”, “The Old Revolution”, “Last Year’s Man”, “Love Calls You by Your Name”, “Famous Blue Raincoat”, “Joan of Arc”, “The Guests”, “The Ballad of the Absent Mare”, “Dance Me to the End of Love”, “Hallelujah”, “First We Take Manhattan”, “Everybody Knows”, “Democracy”.

Although many songs shine brightest in the simple guitar playing style he began with, Cohen was clever enough to work with collaborators who helped him construct sensitive arrangements which drew from traditional or jazz or classical idioms. Even the most glaring exception to that rule – Death of a Ladies’ Man, the 1977 album where music as well as production is credited to the ostentatious and eccentric Phil Spector – probably merits fresh attention for its novelty.

Throughout Cohen’s career listeners often regarded his music as bleak and pessimistic. As a youthful fan of Neil Young I never felt such criticism was fairly applied to him and I certainly felt it was equally unfair to Cohen. His singing voice was always of a narrow range, but that could just as easily be applied to singers of other sub-genres like Robert Plant or Bruce Springsteen or Adele. That narrowness would certainly be a problem if the songs were not sufficiently varied. With Cohen they definitely were varied, and were regularly performed, as suggested earlier, by a sympathetic group of supportive instrumentalists and backing vocalists.

In his performance and public persona, Cohen aged gracefully as he retained his musical popularity. He was fond of classic male tailoring, was well-groomed, softly and thoughtfully spoken and known for asking for high-quality wine in his dressing-room after performances. As a man born into a Jewish family in French-speaking Canada, who had once lived in Greece and later as a Buddhist monk in Tibet, he was respected and celebrated as someone who was part of and comfortable in many different cultural and spiritual traditions.

Perhaps because of Cohen’s Jewishness rather than his North American background, I find when I listen to him that I think of other disparate cultural figures who were part the changing landscape of mid-century and post-war Europe. Film-makers like Buñuel and Wajda and De Sica and Truffaut, writers like Lorca, Havel and Auden.

 

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Some more rumination about music crossover

 

A digital radio in a new car this year has meant that I have heard much more of BBC Radio 6 Music than before – which perhaps affords the opportunity for another assessment.

Daytime listening often means catching randomly stuff which sounds listenable or recognisable but turns out to be by someone you had never heard of, like Public Service Broadcasting, This is the Kit, Houndstooth or Childhood. Equally it allows the deliberate listening to Mark Radcliffe, a presenter I have liked since he first appeared on Radio 1 in 1991, continuing in his jovial partnership with Stuart Maconie which I first enjoyed on evenings on Radio 2.

However, this increased listening does also provide further evidence that, whether the music is previously unheard tracks by long ignored bands from the 1970s and 1980s or 1990s or new material by new acts, it does consist mostly of the same rock/R&B/soul/pop elements as might have been heard on Radios 1 or 2 in decades past.

For me, it is a glaring and disappointing omission that the daytime programmes on a radio station which describes itself as presenting “the cutting edge music of today (and) the iconic and groundbreaking music of the past 40 years” does not regularly include as standard some world music from Africa or the Caribbean and some modern classical and experimental music of the kind Radio 3 features in their programmes Late Junction, Hear and Now and Exposure, and thus give its artists and composers a wider audience.

The weekly Freak Zone presented by the aforementioned Stuart Maconie is, as far as I can see, the only Radio 6 Music programme at present which regularly includes at least some music from the more esoteric ends of the jazz and classical spectra.

This particular flaw in Radio 6 Music’s conservative scheduling was highlighted by a comment by Sam Jackson, managing editor of the equally conservative Classic FM, when he suggested part of his radio station’s long-term success lay in identifying and exploiting the closeness of the audiences for mainstream pop/rock and mainstream classical. “There is a far bigger audience crossover between us and Radio 1 than there is between us and Radio 3,” he said, “(because) young people don’t have any preconceptions about how classical music is supposed to enjoyed; they are used to listening to individual tracks so they completely get our approach.”

An earlier Leaf Collecting post argued that the BBC had one pop/rock radio station too many, and I still think that’s true, since it is clear that most of what Radio 6 Music plays would easily fit into the musical offerings of the BBC’s two older pop/rock music stations, Radios 1 and 2. This was further made apparent to me by the employment of DJs from all three channels on the BBC TV Glastonbury coverage, demonstrating that most of the festival acts selected for broadcast would be easily recognisable to all three audiences.

An alternative unhappy interpretation of the BBC’s approach with Radio 6Music is the one expressed by Paul Driver when he was discussing the present-day shape of music criticism on Radio 3’s Music Matters: that the established media’s poor coverage of classical music is not caused by a shortage of space or resources but of a lack of will – “a distinct cultural intervention against classical music really, which has had so many manifestations…”

 

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A welcome to new life

 

Here and below, four scenes of Orkney photographed in 1992.

 

I had never heard Peter Maxwell Davies’ song “Lullaby for Lucy” until six months ago, when I heard it performed by Genesis Sixteen at the Cumnock Tryst. Since then, I keep bumping into it, most recently as the finale of the BBC Radio 3’s Composer of the Week programmes dedicated to the late composer.

The text of the piece is a poem by George Mackay Brown , only eleven lines long but still resonant with trademark references to nature, food and drink and spirituality.

Maxwell Davies set it to music in 1981, bringing what to my ear are medieval influences into the undulating harmonies.

The back-story of “Lullaby for Lucy” is often repeated. Mackay Brown wrote it in acrostic form to mark the birth of Lucy Rendall, the first child born for 32 years in the parish of Rackwick on the Orkney island of Hoy. The circumstances of her parents’ meeting were suitably unusual.

What happened to Lucy after her birth was marked, exceptionally, by two world-famous creative artists? The internet does have one newspaper article about her forthcoming wedding in 2005.

Maxwell Davies was a prolific composer, working, like Benjamin Britten and James MacMillan, in many forms and for many types of musicians. His style moved from modernist and avant-garde in the 1960s to more conventionally classical later, influenced, it is usually agreed, by his move to Orkney in the 1970s.  

 

 

 

 

“Unite…celebration…new…a pledge and a promise…brightness and light”.  “Lullaby for Lucy” is a fittingly uplifting piece, in both words and music, for spring and for Eastertide. 

 

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Werewolves and Thompson gunners

 

I hadn’t thought much recently about the deceased US musician Warren Zevon  until Verity Sharp marked the 70th anniversary of his birth on Late Junction on BBC Radio 3 in January. She described him as “a man who struggled with life, emotionally volatile, violent, erratic”.  I thought back to other descriptions of Zevon.  Andy Kershaw called him “the Hunter S.Thompson of rock and roll” when choosing one of his songs for Desert Island Discs in 2007. Right at the start of his career, I once heard a broadcaster’s summary of his early extra-musical life which made him sound like Humphrey Bogart’s Rick Blaine character in Casablanca.

All these colourful impressions are emphasised by various articles on the internet which mention his father’s gangster connections, his childhood acquaintance with Igor Stravinsky, his acquaintance with writers like the aforementioned Thompson plus horror specialist Stephen King and poet Paul Muldoon, his continual philandering and addictions. 

 Like many people, my first acquaintance with Zevon was through his connection with Jackson Browne.  At the time of Browne’s arrival to prominence with the album The Pretender in 1976, he produced the album Warren Zevon. The two toured together in Britain at that time, including in a concert filmed on  The Old Grey Whistle Test.

Zevon’s cover photograph on that 1976 album is of an alluringly cool dude: the shoulder-length light hair and round-framed glasses, the semi-formal dark jacket over the open-necked white shirt, the serious gaze and the arm raised in purposeful pose.  

Barbara Charone in Sounds described the album at the time as “the ultimate L.A. album”, less for Zevon’s association with more established California-based musicians than for the location-spotting of his scenes of deviant behaviour, such as in “Carmelita”, “The French Inhaler” and “Desperadoes Under the Eaves”.

Looking back now, you feel Zevon’s musical affinity is less with Browne than with another Californian singer-pianist-songwriter: Randy Newman. Like Newman, Zevon’s songs are often narratives, featuring characters whose behaviour is eccentric or subversive.  Like Newman, his perspective is often wry and sour, with an awareness of political realities. Among the best are “Frank and Jesse James”, “Excitable Boy”, “Werewolves of London”, “Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner”, “Lawyers Guns and Money” and “The Envoy”.

During the 1980s and 1990s, many musicians tended to overuse the multi-tracked heavy rhythms which were then judged to be most suitable for radio and live concerts alike. This certainly seemed to happened in Zevon’s case. Whether it was others’ commercial interests, his own personal distractions or simply changing musical fashions which were the strongest influence in his artistic stasis is hard to say. As Zevon apparently said himself before his death in 2003, “I got to be Jim Morrison longer than he did”.

Throughout his career, as shown by the many clips on You Tube, continued an attractively self-deprecating personality and a gruff but tuneful voice.

 

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Gangsters and their molls in New York and Havana

 

Happy New 2017!

As a theatre lover I recognise that Broadway musical plays of the 1940s and 1950s such as Oklahoma and Carousel are as important pieces in their own way as the work of Brecht and Beckett, but I’ve never really been a fan. Probably to do with the fact that the actors in screen musicals like Howard Keel and Gordon MacRae always seemed a lighter thinner breed in comparison to Spencer Tracy or Humphrey Bogart or Henry Fonda. Possibly also to do with the fact that my teenage pop listening days also included that bizarre later era of musicals when every established dramatic genre was twisted and turned into a musical like Paint Your Wagon or Camelot or Scrooge or Man of La Mancha. 

However, despite not being a fan of most musicals, I am a fan of Guys and Dolls.

This emerged from my great interest in the National Theatre in its early years at its home on London’s South Bank. That interest was spurred by their practice of touring productions to Glasgow plus the fact that one of their three auditoria, the Cottesloe, had a company for many years led by director Bill Bryden from my home town of Greenock. Guys and Dolls, by Jo Swerling, Abe Burrows and Frank Loesser, was staged at the NT in 1982, directed by Richard Eyre. He discussed it on Desert Island Discs in 1985 in an interview which is still available to hear on the BBC Radio 4 archive.

One interesting snippet from the interview is that Laurence Olivier originally planned to produce Guys and Dolls during his own stint at the National Theatre.  I love Eyre’s anecdote about Olivier’s criticism of his production’s New York accents being “a bit of a melange” and his view that Olivier’s vocal performance, in contrast, “would have been placed exactly to the right street corner”!

 

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The southern half of Manhattan, as seen from the top of the Empire State Building in 2003.

 

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Near Times Square in New York – definitely “Guys and Dolls” territory.

 

The NT was sometimes criticised in its early years for being too dependent on star actors and the cast of Guys and Dolls certainly had some of my own favourites of that time. Bob Hoskins of Pennies From Heaven and The Long Good Friday was Nathan Detroit (perhaps this led to his American characters in Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Mermaids), Ian Charleson of Chariots of Fire was Sky Masterson, Julie Covington of Rock Follies was Sister Sarah Brown. Among the supporting players was Bill Paterson as Harry the Horse.  

This cast did not come to Glasgow but I did see in Edinburgh a touring production in 1985, which Eyre refers to in the radio programme.  I was always struck by that show’s slightly unbalanced casting. The main star billing went to Lulu, then finding her new route between two periods of pop music fame, who was Miss Adelaide. Nathan Detroit was played by long-established TV face Norman Rossington (similar to Bob Hoskins in his earthy persona I suppose, but perhaps then less fashionable). Sky Masterson was the black US actor, then unknown but later more familiar, Clarke Peters. I enjoyed the production although I felt it displayed more of the elements of an old traditional performance rather than a cooler new one. (I think this cast did, however, transfer to London for a time). “Sit Down, You’re Rocking the Boat” sung by Nicely-Nicely Johnston is traditionally regarded as the show-stopper song and David Healy had been retained from the original cast, but I definitely recall finding this section technically impressive (with its two encores which appeared to have become standard) rather more than emotionally or artistically.

Soon after I enjoyed the film version, directed by Joseph L. Manciewicz, who was similar to Richard Eyre in being unused to directing musicals.  Frank Sinatra and Marlon Brando were paired in the two leading male roles. Sinatra would possibly have been seen as a safe piece of casting as Nathan Detroit being an established performer in screen musicals alongside the fashionable but provocative young dramatic actor Brando, but it’s easy to forget that in 1955 he was still younger than 40 and only two years into the new career which had been launched by From Here to Eternity and its attendant Oscar.

 

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Some old American cars in Havana, Cuba, in 2014. Part of “Guys and Dolls” takes place in Havana, a glamorous spot for American gangsters in pre-Castro times.

 

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The Bacardi building in Havana, built in 1930.

 

As with many folk of my age, my ideas and tastes in theatre were influenced by the writings of Kenneth Tynan, and Tynan’s review of the London premiere of Guys and Dolls still reads well: not just for his confident assessment of the show’s quality – “not only a young masterpiece, but the Beggars’ Opera of Broadway”, but his adoption of the language of its Damon Runyon characters: “Miss Adelaide, his ever-loving pretty who is sored up…”; “…being short of ready scratch, Nathan places a bet…”; “I will give you plenty of eleven to five that it is the first fugue that many patrons…ever hear”…;  “I found myself laughing ha-ha… more than a guy in the critical dodge has any right to”.      

This is probably the most famous work of its songwriter Frank Loesser. Songs as strong as any by more famous musical craftsmen like Rodgers and Hammerstein, the fruity, quirky Damon Runyon dialogue and its exaggerated delivery by the flashily dressed small-time criminals; the New York setting – all combine to keep Guys and Dolls fresh in my affections.

 

Reference:   Tynan, Kenneth (1984)   A View of the English Stage 1944-1963   London : Methuen

 

 

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Some reflections on some Christmas songs

 

The annual release of pop/rock songs on a Christmas theme is still widely mythologised  despite long-term reductions in sales. Yet it was a tradition which became established gradually and accidentally. At the start of the 1970s we already had Phil Spector’s distinctive Christmas Album which seemed to follow the playful style of a novelty record like Chuck Berry’s “Run Run Rudolph”. Alongside was the more earnest tone of John Lennon’s “Happy Xmas (War is Over)”.

In 1973 came three of the most well-known and re-released Christmas singles, but these were simply the new releases of established groups. “Merry Christmas Everybody” by Slade was the latest in a series of hits which continued for several more years. In contrast, Wizzard’s  “I Wish it Could be Christmas Every Day” turned out to be practically the end of their career. Elton John was just getting into his career stride and “Step into Christmas” got a much lower chart placing than the previous two possibly just because he had released other records recently or that this one reached the shops too close to Christmas Day.     

However this was the start of a routine. Popular music acts both famous and aspiring would release a single around Christmas following some tried and trusted lyrical (and sometimes musical) templates. Some you liked to hear again each December, some you definitely didn’t. In this time of goodwill perhaps I might muse at greater length on three Christmas singles over the next 40 years which made particular impressions on me.

“I Believe in Father Christmas”, released by the recently deceased Greg Lake in 1975, is definitely in the sombre vein of “Happy Xmas (War is Over)”.  Childhood sentimentality is rejected in the lyrics, which were written by Pete Sinfield: “they told me a fairy story” but “I woke up” and “saw (Father Christmas) through his disguise”. World peace is a principal desire of the narrator but not yet available; “hopeful” optimism is appropriate but requires individual effort: “the Christmas we get we deserve”.  

The song’s slow tempo tune was livened by chiming percussion and an acknowledged steal from a classical melody by Prokofiev. Happily it was a big hit and was played regularly on Radio 1 during subsequent Yuletides. Ironically, since Lake released the record as a diversion from his normal band work, it may be the record he is now most known for.

I remember in the mid-1980s saying to someone of my age, “There was a time when we thought that “I Believe in Father Christmas” was as grown-up and intelligent as a Christmas pop song could be” and the other chap agreed. Mind you, at the same time, I heard (or read) cool new young BBC broadcaster Andy Kershaw saying that he made trips to the emerging musical countries of Africa and Latin America around Christmas “so that I don’t have to hear Greg Lake on the radio” !

It was only a couple of years later when I heard on the radio a Christmas-themed record by a band I quite liked but who didn’t usually appear on Top of the Pops. A few days later, I heard the song again and by now I loved it. Although I rarely bought singles, I decided I must purchase this one, because the band was not yet popular, so the record would certainly not be a hit and would not be played frequently on the radio.

I was quite wrong. The record, “Fairy Tale of New York” by the Pogues and Kirsty MacColl, was a big hit that Christmas of 1987 and became a Christmas radio staple.

Today I find enough things to dislike in the record that I have to think back a bit carefully to remember exactly what I first enjoyed in it. One attraction was certainly the references to New York, a place I loved both in its idealised and real forms and which I had already been lucky enough to visit twice. (The original single’s sleeve had a wonderful old photograph – below –  of the city sky-line). A musical strength was the potent mix of the voices of Shane MacGowan and Kirsty MacColl as they presented the romantic images of “you promised me Broadway was waiting for me” and “the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day”.  But I always winced at the stereotypical image of Celtic male drunkenness at the start of the narrative and the shared insults voiced later by MacGowan and MacColl. I have not warmed further to these elements as time has passed.  So “Fairy Tale of New York” is definitely one of those cultural artefacts where its qualities change depending on the angle or time of approach.  

 

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Fast forward again, this time to 2011, possibly the last Christmas when in the car I would automatically switch on a popular music station rather than Radio 3 or 4. By accident I caught a snippet of a song which seemed to revive some of the musical or lyrical atmosphere of “I Believe in Father Christmas” or “Fairy Tale in New York”.  Fortunately we now had the internet, so I could quickly find out the names of the artistes and could listen to the song for free to my heart’s content.

It was “When the Thames Froze” by (Tom) Smith and (Andy) Burrows, two members of 21st century bands which I had heard of but never from.

“When the Thames Froze” follows the solitary reflection of “I Believe in Father Christmas” rather than a narrative like “Fairytale in New York”. The lyrics seek a balance between the contemporary and the timeless. While the title image hints at centuries past, one striking line is clearly contemporary and political: “God damn this government, will they ever tell me where the money went?” And will they ever take some action about civic discontent and homelessness? The scene described elsewhere is less fixed: the hazards of “snow” and “cold” may not be physical. Whatever, the narrator seems reasonably confident that “my friends” and “you” will support him through difficulty.  As in “I Believe in Father Christmas”,  the ending builds tempo with cautious optimism although here all that is needed is hope and communication rather than effort : “tell everyone…let’s hope the next (year) beats the last”. Like many 21st century pop-rock songs, “When the Thames Froze” seems aware of its shaky structure, which is perhaps why familiar instrumentation touches are re-employed to build the Christmas cheer: brass band, ensemble singing.   

It is widely agreed that our celebration of Christmas has gradually become less religious and more secular. Is this change reflected in this arbitrary selection of three Christmas songs over 30 years? Yes, I think so. “I Believe in Father Christmas” does refer to “the virgin birth” and a faith in “the Israelite” although the narrator appears to be scoffing at this as “a fairy story”. Even fewer biblical references in the later two songs. The two characters in “Fairytale of New York” do not appear to be religious even though the church bells ringing on Christmas Day is an image of hope and happiness, delivered in a major key. And, 20 years later on, when the Thames freezes, perhaps not physically, the only reference to God is in the form of a curse:  “God damn”.

 

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Days of the counter-culture

 

Supplementing a recent BBC4 documentary, the Roundhouse website includes some great historical information about how the 160-year-old former railway shed evolved into one of London’s most active and vibrant arts venues.

The early days of the Roundhouse included performances of the new “psychedelic” pop/rock music, so it was not surprising on the documentary to hear some music by Jefferson Airplane.

Their song “White Rabbit” struck me as eerie and other-worldly when I first heard it several times without knowing its identity on a university union jukebox in 1974-1975,  with its snare drum, climbing guitar line, building crescendo and Lewis Carroll-influenced dreamscape lyrics. It still casts a decently strong eldritch spell today.

 

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San Francisco, from whence came Jefferson Airplane. Photographed in 2000.

 

The programme and web-site impressed on me that Arnold Wesker’s Centre 42 plan for the Roundhouse in 1964 must have been one of the first times anyone envisaged that a former industrial work space might be adapted to arts and cultural use. More recent high-profile examples in the UK have been the Tramway in Glasgow, the Tate Modern in London and the Baltic gallery in Gateshead.  

 

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The Baltic art gallery, constructed from a former flour mill on the banks of the river Tyne at Gateshead. Photographed in 2003.

 

 

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The lichts o’ Hallowe’en

 

I have always been sceptical of the authenticity and value of modern writing in the Scots language, but I must concede a powerful example is some of the poetry of Violet Jacobs. Mind you, she lived from 1863 to 1946 so might be regarded as being closer to the era of Robert Burns  than to anyone living today.

I first came across her poem “Hallowe’en” in the musical setting by Jim Reid, which gives it added power as well as makes its reflective structure seem strangely similar to John Betjeman’s poem “Christmas”. Jacobs’ narrator observes all the features of a local Hallowe’en – the children dressed up, the sharing of ghost stories – and finds them especially poignant because her loved one is in France, probably a casualty of World War One.

Burns himself also wrote a poem called “Hallowe’en”, which is a description of various folklores of the season, carried out by some named characters, with accompanying notes by the bard.

Biographer Maurice Lindsay felt it “one of Burns’ least successful poems…perhaps (because it was) a too-conscious attempt to preserve customs.” However, Lindsay did point readers in the direction of two livelier poems which probably influenced Burns’ “Hallowe’en”.

“Hallow-Fair” by Robert Fergusson, the contemporary whom Burns greatly admired  reports on a public celebration near Edinburgh, while “Hallowe’en” by the less well -known John Mayne provides tips for family celebrations at half the length of Burns and at twice the pace.

 

Reference :  Lindsay, Maurice (1994)   Robert Burns : The Man, His Work, The Legend   London : Robert Hale

 

 

 

 

 

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A time to meet in Ayrshire

 

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The A Frame of the former Barony coal mine in Auchinleck. “The Barony A Frame” was the title of a piece of music by Scott Lygate given its world premiere at the Cumnock Tryst this year. The coal mine closed in 1989.

 

Three years ago, a Leaf Collecting post drew similarities between contemporary composer Sir James MacMillan and the earlier Benjamin Britten.  If I had waited another year, I could have added the further similarity of their two music festivals.  

MacMillan’s Cumnock Tryst is still small by the standards of other festivals, but it is significant for being a classical music weekend in an area which does not normally host such things and which will benefit greatly from any such cultural and financial investment. Cumnock, the former mining town where MacMillan grew up, and its smaller neighbour Auchinleck together boast several handsome churches and other buildings which can ably stage classical concerts, especially of sacred music. 

 

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The interior of the Catholic Church of St John the Evangelist in Cumnock is the more striking, but its sloped, wooden-framed entrance vestibule still catches the eye and hints at the varied influences of its architect William Burges.

 

I was thrilled to be at the first concert of the first festival in 2014 to see the world-famous and brilliant choir The Sixteen conducted by Harry Christophers, in the church of St John the Evangelist, Cumnock, with its sumptuous Arts and Crafts/Gothic interior by architect William Burges. Their programme included a mix of works by the 16th century English composer Sheppard and modern compositions based on the “Stabat Mater”.

 

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This view of Cumnock Old Church displays its proportions but not really its prominence in the centre of The Square in the town.

 

Nothing in the second festival line-up enticed me like The Sixteen, but the concert at the Cumnock Old Church was still highly satisfactory. It included Fauré’s “Requiem”, some Bach and a MacMillan première, performed by the collected forces of the Hebrides Ensemble, Genesis Sixteen and the newly-formed Festival Chorus.

This year I was back at St John’s Church for a performance by the aforementioned Genesis Sixteen, the younger “apprentice” ensemble of The Sixteen, conducted by Eamonn Dougan. Their varied programme included Renaissance composers like Lassus, Bertolusi and Ramsay and 20th century names like Peter Maxwell Davies, Kenneth Leighton and Roderick Williams.

 

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The exterior of Trinity Church in Cumnock, where Nicola Benedetti performed as part of a trio at this year’s Cumnock Tryst, is echoed by the distinctive shop fronts next door.

 

One tiny criticism of the Cumnock Tryst is that twice in three years it has featured another Scottish classical music celebrity, violinist Nicola Benedetti, and thus might create the impression that it is too heavily reliant on two local star individuals. Another is that the use of the 18th century Robert Adam-designed Dumfries House, already a great tourism and commercial development for the area since a Prince Charles-led consortium secured its future in 2007, unbalances the shape of the Tryst as it has hosted three Sunday finale concerts with the most expensive tickets which have all sold out quickly.

 

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Dumfries House, designed by Robert Adam and his brothers in the 1750s.

 

However, I know these criticisms are not really fair.  Benedetti is the designated patron of the festival and her appearance this year was as part of a trio in a varied programme which included the contemporary music by Mark-Antony Turnage, which I would rather liked to have attended myself. And why should the fans of the splendid Dumfries House not enjoy their rare chance to hear live music in its period setting? Elsewhere throughout the weekend, the Cumnock Tryst celebrates less famous composers and musicians, plus some fine buildings in Cumnock and Auchinleck.

Next year, I should go more often than once to this valuable social and cultural enterprise.

 

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