Grab Gustav Holst's Holster !

Knickers to you !

More scary Easter Bunnies

Masculine Women ! Feminine Men !

Thank you to my friend Peter who found this treasure from 1926

My Top 10 Hits of the 20th Century

HERE are Pierre Boulez's Top Ten Hits from the 20th Century. Anyone can play!  And should, because the fun is in the process of thinking, not in Beckmessering a result. My Top Ten Hits of the 20th Century. In Random Order. Subject to change at any moment.

Britten : Violin Concerto (more here)
Messiaen  :Et exspecto resurrectionem Mortuorum (more here)
Messiaen : Chronochromie
Messiaen : Sept Hai kai (more here)
Britten : Death in Venice

Boulez : Pli selon Pli
Janáček : Diary of One Who Disappeared

Szymanowski : Symphony no 3 (more here)
Szymanowksi: Violin Concerto
Sibelius : Luonnotar

Sibelius : Symphony no 7

Mahler : Symphony no 8
Mahler : Symphony no 10 Cooke III completion (Harding)
Janáček : Sinfonietta (first version)
Brian Ferneyhough : Shadowlines

Britten : Billy Budd

Franz Schreker : Die Gezeichneten, or Irrelohe, or Christophorous
Walter Braunfels : Jeanne d'Arc (more here)
Berg : Wozzeck
Stravinsky The Rite of Spring

Edgard Varèse : Ionization, Equatorial

Elgar : The Dream of Gerontius
Ralph Vaughan Williams : Six Songs from a Shropshire Lad
Gerald Finzi : Dies Natalis
George Butterworth : Songs from A Shropshire Lad, Banks of Green Willow

Benjamin : Into the Little Hill
Birtwistle : Thesus Games, Earth Dances (more here) 
Ernst Krenek : Reisebuch aus den österreichIschen Alpen (more here) 
K A Hartmann : Simplicius Simplicissimus (more here)

K A Hartmann : Gesangszene (more here) 

Braunfels : Die Verkündigung (more here)
Puccini : Madama Butterfly (lots on this site) 
Mahler : Das Lied von der Erde
Xenakis : 
Boulez : Derive 2

Oops that's 80+ dashed off in 20 minutes, and loads left out.

Staffies for Wagner

My Staffy hears music all the time, and isn't much bothered.

One day, however, Fafner roared out of the speakers  Instant alert ! Much jumping and growling. That dog has more imagination than some people !

The Cunning Little Vixen Gangnam Style !

Creative People......

This one has been around a while but it's still true:

CREATIVE PEOPLE

• get bored but find ways out of it
• take risks
• colour outside the lines
• think with their hearts 
• make mistakes
• hate rules
• work independently
• change their minds
• infuriate plods
• DREAM BIG

Youngest opera singer ?

This was sent to me by an opera singer who started singing when he was this age. It's going round the opera singer community, esp the ones with babies, who know it happens in their homes too. Enjoy the kid's improvisation at the end.

Watermelon as art form

Watermelon as art form

Great Führer of the sausage people

All you really need to get into The ROH Rossini La donna del lago is that a) it is a work of art based on a work of fiction that was consciously created to revise history and b) that Rossini was Italian. Why else is the guy writing Italianate bel canto trills if he's writing "about" the reality of Scotland? What do composers know about opera!

.All works of art are works of the imagination. Even history is a form of performance art because it can be reshaped through interpretation. And so to the Haggis, which appears in the John Fulljames staging. You don't need to know about the Celtic Society seen dining in the opera to get what the image means. All you need to know is what a haggis basically is, which isn't exactly rocket science. And if you don't know, you can find out.

Haggises are simple cheap food,made from offal and stored for times when fresh meat and veg were scarce. They weren't even Scottish. But they "became" symbols of Scotland when Robert Burns wrote a poem about them and the Celtic Club turned them into a cult. From poor folks' nosh to posh toffs' parties. Nowadays  haggises are siupposed to be served with semi-religious ritual on Burns Night, and stabbed in solemn fashion with a knife. Maybe it's a re-enactment of some Jungian memory of hunting real beasts in wild woodlands. Or it's a total send-up! See how easy it is to create culture and history? Anyone can do it if they try. There's no such thing as "fixed" history. Or performance.

Now for .the Great Führer of the sausage people.  A friend mailed me today to say:
"On Burns Night the Scots recite Burns's lines on the haggis when they stab the beast. Thus:

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race

At a Burns Supper in Germany Burns's Lowland Scots lines had been translated into German. They were than translated back into English, thus:

A blessing on your honest, ruddy countenance,

Great Führer of the sausage people

 
So you don't need to know much to get an opera. But you do need to take on board the fact that you don't know everything. We all have different levels of general knowledge but the skill lies in a) using your brain and much more important b) realizing that other peoiple might just have something to say.
 
photo : courtesy Kim Traynor

haha !!!

Extra Dry Rheingold, not Wagner

Is it sheer coincidence that Keith Warner's heavily marketed Wagner Ring of the Nibelungen opens at the Royal Opera House London at the same time as the Oktoberfest opens in Munich?  Commercialism rears its ugly head! But at least in this case, one can reflect that sixty years ago audiences knew what "Rheingold" meant and associated it with liquid gold. Notice the bombastic "orchestra".  Perhaps those audiences even got the irony of using arch anti-capitalist Richard Wagner in a crass commercial. 

What is the message of Das Rheingold  and of the entire Ring Cycle?  Whoever holds the Ring is cursed. Alberich rips off the oppressed Nibelung working class. Wotan  rips off Alberich. Fafner and Fasolt scrap with each other. Wotan's scams go far wider than cheating on a mortgage. He cheats on his wife. He doesn't "do" responsibility, even when he tries to protect his daughter. Hagen and Gunther think they can rip off Siegfried.  "Des Ringes Herr als des Ringes Knecht"  Alberich's curse applies to himself since he stole the Rheingold in the first place. An indictment of the Capitalist system!

Thickets of moral compromise. So grüss' ich die Burg, sicher vor Bang' und Grau'n! sings Wotan as he accepts his entitlement. But heed what Loge has to say : Ihrem Ende eilen sie zu, die so stark in Bestehen sich wähnen. Fast schäm' ich mich, mit ihnen zu schaffen; zur leckenden Lohe mich wieder zu wandeln, spür' ich lockende Lust. The Ring is for the rich. Plebs need not apply. But as beer, Das Rheingold is available to all. For details of the ROH broadcast schedule, please see here.

Cocaine Candy

Why are chemists in the US called druggists ? Answer : they used to deal drugs. Going to the drugstore for an ice cream float might not be quite so innocent. Coca-Cola got it's name because one of the secret ingredients derived from the coca plant. Very early Coca-Cola ads sold the cocaine angle. "Heath Drink" that made you high. Above, an ad for cocaine candy. For kids. One way to hook an addictive market.

The secret history of Louie, Louie

If you were old enough or young enough in the 1960's you could not have escaped Louie, Louie. It was wilder and more radical than the Beatles or Rolling Stones. Downright dirty! The slurred vocals and beefy, aggressive guitar licks suggested something so horribly indecent that it could not be articulated. In those innocent days when girls wore white socks and cardies, it was like an explosion of primitive Id. The song was immediately banned in Singapore and other polite places.

 The original song was penned by Richard Berry in 1955, and was an innocuous semi-calyposo about a lonely sailor. It wasn't a hit, but Berry tourede the Pacific North West, then a fairly conservative place where people did things like logging, farming and fishing.  Then a band of local whitebread kids covered it and the song went ballistic. The Kingsmen were wholesome, suburban from middle class homes, their band supported by their parents. But their version of Louie Louie was anarchy,  a sudden, volcanic explosion of primal Id.  Now the region is the Heimatland of Grunge (Kurt Cobain, etc).  Go figure?

While Berry pronoundced the name Louie, Louie like it was Louis XIV, the Kingsmen growled Loo-EI Loo-EI Oh Bebbeh!  like a cannibal chant pounded out with imaginary spears. Because the words were unintelligible, you could read anything into them, but the mood was unmistakable.  That driving beat that let nothing get in its way. "Me gotta go, oooh no! yeah, yeah!!"  "They can't speak English!" said my Dad. Mick Jagger seemed so tame. Being the hippest, coolest kid in the entire region, it was inevitable that I should be drawn into Louie Louie although I was a nerdy A student already absorbed in Schubert. No regrets, for Louie, Louie opened out dark territory for a sheltered kid like me, but in a safe way. And it did enhance my love for Schubert who intuits wild shores, though he does it more elegantly. At that age I was listening to Galli-curci and to bel canto. Later still, Varèse was a breeze and The Rite of Spring perfectly easy to access.  Louie, Louie has been covered many times (a fairly weak British version by the Kinks) but the Kingsmen were the most original and the best.

Slava! Slava! Snowman

Snowman made by Polish toddler, London. We moan in UK when we get 4 inches. "You call that snow!" snorted my Moscow friend. "In Moscow we get 40 inches!". "You call that snow!" said her mother who grew up in Siberia under Stalin. No electricity, no heating, no water, no firewood. It's all relative.

Driving back from Dvorak The Jacobin up Highgate Hill in a sturdy little Skoda, singing "Slava! Slava! Svoboda!" Other cars stalled, sliding and skidding but tough little Czechs make it thru.

How to out Nokia a Nokia

What to do with idiots who don't switch off their phones? Rage doesn't work. Wit might.  Courtesy of good friend and reader, HERE is a link to a recital in the Orthodox Synagogue in Presov in Slovakia. It's not a huge venue and everyone probably knows everyone. Rather than poison the atmosphere, the soloist Lukas Kmit graciously improvises on the Nokia theme tune. Point made. Nokia owner chastened. This is class.

Most people who forget their phones don't do it on purpose. But those who chat, text etc are boors. Worst of all those who liveblog during performances. Liveblogging breaking news is understandable as no-one knows til later how the bits will fit. Performances, however, are interpretation and can't be evaluated til the end when the whole falls into place. Can't people listen without fidgetting? And what sort of friends can they have who rely on tweets instead of real performance. Even if you corrall livebloggers into special areas, the fact remains - attention defict disorder.

Aki, nobody knows tomorrow

Last year someone did a "life satisfaction" survey and Nigeria came out tops. Here's a classic from Nigeria in the 70's. "This life is wonderful, but don't be proud because you have it, it comes from God" (ie fate)  "Almighty" he sings after a short pause "Pickin-o good-o, if you get, if you no gettem.... . "Money is good-o, money good-o, we know, if you get, but don't laugh, many people no get's...but if you no gets, make you no cry, first time is the best. Opportunity comes but once in this world. Who knows tomorrow, my friend? Nobody knows tomorrow...."  Prince Nico Mbarga wrote Sweet Mother the all-time iconic African classic, known all over the world now. He didn't make mega money and his music career dropped off the radar. Eventually he was killed in a bike accident, still young.  But he lives on in his music. Trusty regular African specialist reader says, "Pickin means child in West African slang, and may come from the Portuguese pequeno. Prince Nico was very family oriented, so to him having children was maybe more valuable than having money."

Cool Dude, Dvořák

courtesy of Julian Long, baritone. Dvořák in the 70's the Decade That Taste Forgot

Fantastic Feast - the Greyhound

Now you see why I'm too busy to get to Salonen's Sibelius at the South Bank. I was at The Greyhound, nestled in the Berkshire countryside. It's an ancient half-timbered village pub with weathered flagstones. Dozens of pubs like this in this part of the countryside. But the Greyhound is run by Antony Worrall Thompson, one of the biggest names in British cooking. The atmosphere is unique - unpretentious country ambiance but gourmet class food, for which you'd pay big money in London.

English food gets a bad reputation because it's usually so mean and ill-prepared. The Greyhound proves that English cuisine is not an oxymoron. Here English fare is done so well that at last you can understand why Europeans once envied the British for their rosbif and accompaniments like horseradish suace, Yorkshire pudding (a kind of starch) and cauliflower cheese. Simple ingredients, cooked properly. That's all it really takes.

The meat here is sourced from Gabriel Machin, the Henley-on-Thames butchers that's been family-run for over a hundred years. Vegans look away. Machins are artists with meat. They kill, hang and prepare their cuts the craftsman way, and make superlative sausages and hams. Traditional shop, too, in a Tudor building. When I first started going there they had sawdust on the floor (full of blood, so I don't miss that).

Even though most of the Sunday Lunch crowd scoffed Sunday Roast, as one should, my pal and I chose something different. Thai crab soup with coconut and coriander - chunks of crab, aromatic. I thought about the starter of wild mushrooms (locally sourced - lots of woods round here), but settled on roast fig stuffed with nuts and blue cheese, wrapped in Parma Ham and served on a bed of Caesar salad. The fig was huge - probably not locally sourced though there are several historic fig trees in the neighbourhood. The Caesar dressing was so rich (and tasty) that next time I'm having this instead of a main. Fig, ham and two cheeses - perfect balance of flavours!

Monseuir settled on fried chicken and Madame on a cheeseburger. But not like any you're used to. The chicken was crisp and light, flavoured with real herbs not Colonel Sanders's chemicals.  The burger was top-quality lean beef and tasted like steak. No additives. The best burger I ever had was in a cliff top shack on the Northern California coast, where the owner got his meat from an organic ranch and did everything himself. Perhaps Worrall Thompson does too. Around the end of service, he and his manager appear in the dining room and ask if all's well. as if they genuinely mean it. From the excellent service and high standards, I think they do. Usually, I don't give a stuff about celebrities, but these two seemed like good people, glad to be doing a good job. 
 
Although we'd eaten more meat, cheese and mayo than usual, this meal didn't weigh one down as the ingredients were so fresh. The Greyhound is generous with water - we consumed two whole jugs - and that helped, too. So though we only had two glasses of wine we had room for dessert. English puddings, done perfectly, full of fruit not lard. We were tempted by the cheese selection -  a choice of local soft cheese and imported gourmet fare, but the ice cream won. Peach ice cream with melon and mango sorbet. Each divinely light and sparkling - the melon tastes like cantaloupe whipped into a mousse and frozen.  We were shocked - poistively - by the price, which included 4 coffees. Less than what you'd pay for in an average, boring place. And at the Greyhound you can sit outdoors in a garden with a real koi pond and a vine covered secret arbour if you're so inclined. Here's the website.

Carnal Flower and Lys méditerranée

Summer is a-coming in, everything coming in to bloom at once. Time to switch perfumes too. In with Lys méditerranée, and my winter signature Carnal Flower into cool dark storage. Both are creations by Frédéric Malle. Why do I "need" perfume when the money could keep a family of ten in Burkina Faso fed for a year?  But on the other hand, a good perfume enhances your soul.

Carnal Flower turns heads because it's so subtle and unique. I love tuberose but it doesn't usually like me. I  love the idea of Tuberose criminelle but can't wear it. Carnal Flower, on the other hand, is natural, and works with you. Tuberoses need hot, sunny summers to thrive and usually come into bloom just as frosts set in in Europe. One year I brought them into the conservatory for shelter together with lemon and orange blossom. Unbelievably heady!  But that's what Carnal Flower is like - tuberose, citrus and something mysterious like the night. There's a hint of coconut, a smell I normally can't abide, but there's nothing cheap about Carnal Flower. Maybe Malle's comes from the young, green, fresh macapuno. Carnal Flower is carnal, but elegant and brainy.

Lys Méditerranée is more complex than the soliflores I used to wear when I was more cautious. Lilies are pure and fragile looking but they grow on tough stems. They have to be, to support as many as 20 blooms on each head.  A courageous flower, not for wimps. Lilies stand tall above the crowd.  I like clean, straight, direct. The plant hunter, Robert Fortune, discovered a valley in China with hundreds of thousands of lilies growing together. That was in Yunnan, I think, in the foothills of the Himalayas. Lys Méditerranée is crisp and fresh. like winds blowing in from the sea, so it's cool and very green. Once I was on a bus in Australia and an old Greek guy came on board, arms full of Madonna lilies, like he must have known when he was young and in Greece, growing wild on mountain slopes. So poignant.  Another time the stall holder I used to buy flowers from gave me his entire left over stock and this time it was me with an even bigger armful of lilies, so many that I couldn't walk far less get on the bus. So when I wear Lys méditerranée, memories and connotations enfold me.