Music

I know that Richard(of RBB) thinks that I'm an old reactionary when it comes to my taste in music.

I actually managed to hide his guitar last week when he was going to play our bloody school Karakia as an introduction to our usual Wednesday morning torture session called "Professional Development".  I know it's not his fault.  He has been told to play, to accompany the 'Dedicated singing of the dedicated teachers at Nuova Lazio High School in their morning paean to the f*cking non-existent spirits/gods of our Maori colleagues.

I don't believe in any Gods, gods, spirits, ghosts, invisible beings of any type, so I don't sing.  I stand mute.  All the staff know of my attitide.

I'm not demonstrating against the palaeolithic culture of our Maori, just making a stand against any sort of spiritualism.

Knowing that Richard(of RBB) is also a rabid atheist, I'm surprised that he even allows himself to play the bloody music, but he does.

It's Okay, Richard (of RBB), I forgive you.  After all, as the Germans said in 1945, Befehl ist Befehl.

But I do like music.

Growing up in Scotland in the 50s (20th century, I'm not that bloody old) I was introduced to the music my Mum and Dad liked.

We were a working class family.  My Dad was a cop in Glasgow, my Mum was a nurse, then a school secretary.  We had TV, a radio and a basic record player.

The good old Dansette, I think every home in the UK had one in the 50/60s

Our music was the nostalgic type.  The Black and White Minstrel Show was required viewing every week.  (Let the PC police sort that lot out.  Caucasians, in black-face, singing songs of the 30s.)

We just didn't know any better.

Mum and Dad used to play their kind of songs.  South Pacific.  And Nelson Eddy.

I now live within easy travelling distance to Tahiti, but SWMBO won't let me go ... sob

Then the Beatles began to become well-known. 

My first ever record purchase was a Parlophone 45rpm of "She Loves You" and my second was a copy of  Freddie and the Dreamers playing "If You Gotta Make A Fool of Somebody"

I cannot express the direness of those songs.  They were truly awful, and I cannot even listen to them now.

What a dick

Most modern music leaves me cold, but there are exceptions.

One is a song that I want played at my funeral.  I know I won't be there at all, in any form, but I want my old friends and relatives to remember me, so I'll make them cry.

It's Hallelujah, written by the late Leonard Cohen, and played beautifully by the late Jeff Buckley.
There are many  versions of this song, but I find this one the most emotive.

Enjoy.

Proud Dad

Black City Lights
Picture Copyright Luke Appleby, Dominion Post (Used with permission)

I don't often just stick a YouTube clip on a post, but this time I have to.

My son has just had this video made for his group's (Black City Lights) song "Rivers", and I think it is great.

View, listen and enjoy. (Really much better in full screen mode)

On the Fiddle

My Beloved dragged me to a "musical experience" in Upper Hutt last week. It was a recital from the "Only Fiddle Music School in the Southern Hemisphere"

Anthems

We, like most of New Zealand watched the first Rugby World Cup (RWC) games on Friday and Saturday

Waltzing the Dog

It was a crisp night last night, and it wasn't raining, so I decided to take our little doggie for a walk.  Readers may remember the fiasco that was the melon-fuelled diarrhoeal nightmare called "walking the dog", but little Samo hadn't been near any type of fruit for some days so I felt reasonably safe.

If music be the food of love, I'm going to throw up.

What is wrong with these people?

Are their ears and brain wired differently from the rest of (and I use the term loosely here) humanity?

Today is not going to be good

When I got out of bed at 5:30 this morning, I had no idea of what was in store for me.
I was actually looking forward to the day.  A light teaching load, some admin, some cups of coffee with colleagues, a little marking then home.  Nice and relaxed.

I now dread today.

Weather (4)

I think I've done something to offend the Weather Gods of Aoteroa.

First was the School Sports Fiasco (see here) where I ended up standing under pouring rain, wearing nothing but a large floppy sun hat, blue shirt (School House Colours), dependable shorts, SF 50 sunblock(washing of in the rain) sandals and a half smile/half grimace.

The student's type of Javelin

My type of Javelin

Second was when the alternate Sports Day was cancelled, and the weather turned out to be gorgeous on the day.  On the day I was timetabled to take 5 classes, and was really looking forward to directing our students in the finer points of throwing the javelin (don't go over the white line, don't ever point it at me, and never, never put it through your foot) while I lolled under a large umbrella sipping re-hydrating fluids, and took the rest of the day off.

Government House

Third was today.  We had bought tickets to go to the Dominion Post Summer Concert.  This is an outdoor performance of the NZ Symphony Orchestra with some famous soloists added.  The usual pieces, Berlioz, Verdi and many others, finishing with the 1812 (with cannons).  We had planned this for months, and we were taking a lovely elderly friend with us, as her birthday (82) treat.  Weather has been good, and Friday was lovely, hot and sunny, but the forecast wasn't too flash, and this morning (Saturday) it's steadily raining.  The website says it's off. Obviously, being an outdoor event, the organizers have planned for bas weather.  There is an alternate outdoor day on Sunday, but the forecast for tomorrow is much worse than today, so the third alternate is activated, which means we go to a concert hall (Michael Fowler Centre) on Sunday instead.  We'll still get our music and even our pre-paid picnic hampers (A euphemism for a brown paper bag containing:

• Pasta salad in a plastic box
• A Muffin
• A slice of cheesecake
• An apple
• A plastic bottle of an anonymous white wine from somewhere in the southern hemisphere

Wonderful)
 But it won't be the same indoors, and I was looking forward to seeing Government House after it's major refurbishment.

Damn all Gods
Now I'll have to stay at home and vacuum, wash and clean.
A man's work is never done.

Richard's Special

He's Special

Yes he is.
We had our end of year prize giving, and Richard [of RBB]'s proteges performed .
We had 3 sets, each (I think) by a different group, and they were great.

Thanks for putting all that effort into our kids, Richard[of RBB], it certainly showed, especially with the middle set. That guitarist was brilliant.  So was Daryl on Saxaphone, and of course yourself on Trumpet.

Well done.
We do appreciate you.  Even if you don't get much support from the SLT.

Acting in Concert

Michael Fowler Centre

Even though my beloved's back is still very painful (thanks for all of your kind words of support) she insisted on going out to the Christmas concert last night at the Michael Fowler Centre in Wellington.


This was a concert with the NZSO and a soprano + a choir. When she told me she had got the tickets, I was momentarily confused. A Soprano? which one? Tony? Carmella? Christopher?

No.  It wasn't them

No. It was a lady called Aivale Cole, singing soprano.

As usual we arrived just in time. Why is it when you're late every other idiot driver goes so slowly, especially in the James Smith Car Park?

We got to our seats, my beloved hobbling down the isle on my arm. She was in such obvious pain that nobody complained about the slow progress, even when we were going up the busy stairs.

Before we had left home, I had applied (at her request) a deep-heat patch on her lower back, and she'd popped 2 Paracetamol and a codeine. I think she was a bit zoned out.

However, back to the concert, which was really educational as I shall explain.



After we had been seated for about 5 minutes, the orchestra began to prepare and the choir began to assemble. The ushers closed the doors in preparation for the concert to start, and ....I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

Whilst the orchestra looked down benignly, people were scrambling from the poorer seats to the better empty ones. We had booked quite late, so we were right down at the front, crammed into a corner, and all around us people were scrambling and shuffling and in several cases crawling over chair backs, moving to seats with a better view.

People scrambling like crabs

By the reaction of the orchestra and the rest of the audience, this was quite a normal act. I was astounded. I had never seen such actions before. It must be the Kiwi cultural attitude, as it would never happen in the UK.



As the concert progressed (I wouldn't recommend it) I spent most of my time looking at the members of the audience. It's actually the part I enjoy the most when the music isn't outstanding. The choir was OK, as was the soprano (just. Good pitch, but not enough volume) but the orchestra seemed to wish they were somewhere else.



The other educational bit came at the end, when the ensemble started on Handel's Hallejujah Chorus. Members of the audience began to stand. More and more of them stood up.

I was in a mild panic.

Had they changed the NZ national anthem to Handel?

Why had nobody told me?



I adopted the demeanour which has served me so well over the years.

Bugger it. I wasn't going to stand. I didn't care if everyone else was upright, I was sitting in a comfortable seat, and by God and by Jiminy I was staying there. So fuck every one else, I'd do what I wanted and to hell with conventions and acceptable behaviour. (Sounds just like some of our kids, doesn't it?)



As we left, my beloved (still hobbling bravely, but a bit more comfortable with the large gin helping the codeine) and I discussed the concert. Neither of us had particularly enjoyed the music, although the Hallelujah Chorus was nicely done, but the arrangements of some of the pieces and the choices themselves were rather uninspired. We were both giggling about the audience standing up.. We've both noticed a tendency of a Kiwi audience to go over the top with standing ovations, cheering etc. We reckoned it could be a hangover from the old colonial days, when the poor isolated Kiwis were so grateful that anyone actually wanted to visit their sheep-infested little country, that they went completely over the top just to convince the poor buggers to stay.

Please stay.  Our sheep are so pretty.

Entertainment

Last night, for my first time in New Zealand, I attended an amateur musical entertainment.

My beloved had mentioned last week that she had been invited to accompany some of her older friends to a meal and a show in Upper Hutt. She had agreed, and of course I had to go along.



I had to hurry home from school, leaving lots of work undone, rush to shower and change, and then get out to meet at a new Indian Restaurant. The meal was nice, but the Indian waitress's eyes widened in shock when I asked for m meal "Indian Hot", not kiwi hot.



I've noticed over the last 7 years here in NZ, that you poor colonials just cannot take a good hot curry. I've been to many restaurants where a Kiwi friend has said "be careful of this one TSB [the Scotsman, not the arena] it's pretty spicy", only to find the meal rather bland and insipid. I grew up in Glasgow as curries began to make their way into the tradition of weekend drinking. It became de rigueur for a young chap to finish off an evenings entertainment with as hot a curry as he could stand. I proudly attained the stature of "Vindaloo Survivor". I can still remember the numbness of the mouth, the sweat running down my back, the exquisite agony of the abused tongue, and of course, the semi-contained screams the next day as the corrosive waste was excreted. I almost expected a hiss of steam as it hit the water.



But, enough on the food, onto the entertainment.



The music was mostly from the 60s and 70s, and the band consisted of the musical director on the piano (wearing I believe, the worlds first macramé tuxedo, with sewn in mirrors), base and acoustic guitars and a drummer.

The cast, my God the cast.

They varied in appearance and age from mid 30s to early 70s.

They varied from very fat to anorexic.

They varied in talent from merely adequate to "I'm going to blow my brains out if I have to hear her again"

The cast varied mightily in appearance and agility, and as tthey swung? through their acts I noticed:



The clang as two of the more elderly members tapped their copper anti-rheumatism bracelets together.

The voluptuous wobbling of a not unattractive young(ish) lady as she gyrated and leaned forward so all the audience could get a really good look down her blouse.

Gratuitous image to keep Fflur ticking over

The muffed lines.

The flat and sharp off-notes.

The way many of their voices faded away into nothingness as they attempted notes outside their vocal range.

The way some of their voices screeched into a higher register many times during a song

The casual re-adjustment of a colostomy bag.

The oxygen tank sitting at the side of the room.

The fixed grins on the cast's face.



To be fair they tried hard.

To be fair the musical quality was horrendous.

To be fair, they had some comic talent. I actually enjoyed (in a mild and restrained fashion) a couple of funny scenes, where timing, script and backing music worked, and actual singing was at a minimum.



They also awarded some prizes during the intermission.



As the cast withdrew to change for the next scene (a medley from the California flower power era, of such concentrated awfulness that I wanted to not only blow my brains out, but to do it retrospectively) one of the organisers appeared on stage and told the audience to go through a variety of commands. "Raise your right arm", "Wave it slowly about" etc. Being a grouchy anti-social bastard (my beloved's words, not mine) I sat there and did not obey the commands. The lady on the stage then told the audience (after a range of similar commands) to reach under their seats (with just a hint of sexual innuendo) and bring out what they find. After about 2-3 minutes of searching, with no excited shouts from us, the poor lady suggested that we should be looking for a "smiley face". More fumbling under seats, accompanied by muttered curses as fingers encountered ancient deposits of chewing gum. Still no excited shouts of triumph. My beloved gave me a gentle nudge (well it was gentle when compared with the Christchurch Earthquake of blessed memory) and after I'd managed to start breathing again I felt under my seat. Oh Shit. I had found the bloody smiley face. Waving it non-excitedly aloft (to the accompaniment of another of my beloved's elbow jabs) I was awarded with a wrapped gift box, of a fair size (about 0.5 metre long).



We then went through a series of questions based on James Bond (the previous closing number had been a medley of Bond film themes. I'll never look at Thunderball again in the same light, after I had watched one of the younger and slightly less fat-challenged male performers hit himself repeatedly in the crotch every time the word Thunderball was uttered by his colleagues on stage, carrying as he was a plastic water pistol in a very suggestive manner) and I won 3. it became embarrassing.

Which was the first Bond Film: Dr. No

Who was the "Bond Girl" in that film: Ursula Andress

What type of RAF plane crashed in the sea in Thunderball: Avro Vulcan

What musical was based on Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet: West Side Story. (I know it wasn't anything to do with Bond, but I think the organiser was desperately trying to get someone else to win at least one bloody question, and away from this obvious Bond Geek in the second row (me).

Ha.



I've won more trivial pursuits than any other member of my family. My sister-in -law refuses to play anymore if I'm playing. My beloved just hits me if I mention the game in her hearing.

I began to whisper the answers in my beloved's ear, just to spread out the prizes. We gave most of them away to our fiend sitting beside us, but i kept 4.

A box of Lavender Scented Drawer liners

A Ball of baby-blue wool

A packet of "Happy Tea" (My beloved said she was willing to bet her entire jewellery collection that it wouldn't make me cheerful)

A bottle of "Refined essence of various vegetable oils, suitable for the removal of stretch marks and wrinkles" (I felt like donating it to the cast. Their need for anti-stretch mark and definitely anti-wrinkle oil was much, much greater than mine.)



At last the evening of "Musical Entertainment" drew to a close (no encore for the poor sods, we just wanted to get out, get away, and consume large amounts of mind-altering and amnesiac substances)

Home



Whisky.

More whisky

Hot shower

Last whisky

Bed.

For Richard [ofRBB]

I mentioned to Richard [of RBB] last week a particular piece of music that I heard in Prague (Czech Republic) by Smetana called Ma Vlast.  Soothing yet rousing (emotionally you pervs).
Here it is Richard [of RBB], just for you.



And for those of you not interested in music here's something else.

Purely Gratuitous Image

or if so inclined

Another Purely Gratuitous Image

The Kool Kat Jazz Klub

We went to a night of Jazz at the Expressions in Upper Hutt, by the New Zealand Youth Jazz Orchestra.  It was made up of school kids from all round NZ, who give up their school holidays and practice and perform Instrumental and Vocal Jazz pieces all around the North Island.  The Orchestra had Sax's, Trumpets, Trombones, a Vibraphone, Piano, Bass and Acoustic Guitar and a Percussion section, but no Double Bass.

They had a Musical Director, Steve Houghton, who had come over from the USA just to lend his expertise to the kids.  They played with a passion and a skill level which was fascinating to watch, and they were all obviously having a great time.  The hall was full, no empty seats, and it was a much varied audience, from about 6 to 80.  This is one of the things I love about NZ.  Any type of community production is pretty well supported, which doesn't always happen in the UK.

I mentioned before how I really couldn't stand amateurish productions, but I had no complaints about this one. 
But, I found I did not get at all involved in the music.  All around me, people  (including my beloved) were nodding, foot-tapping in tune with the music, but it left me alone.  I don't mean I found it unpleasant, it just left me completely unmoved.  I spent most of the time in a mental planning exercise about our school's new timetable, and how I could fit in some classes.

This is strange, as we have been to many musical performances, Opera (shudder), Musical Theatre, Operetta, Ballet and Classical Instrumental and Vocal.  I didn't always enjoy all of the music (especially some of the opera) but I was often involved, and especially so with the Classical performances.  Play me Bruch or Mendelssohn or Dvorak or Beethoven or the like, and I am completely transported, in a little world that consists of nothing but the music and me.  But not this Jazz.  I would go again, as my beloved obviously enjoyed it, but I think it would take some mind-altering medication (or maybe even some Lagavullin) before I could start to appreciate it.

Lunch at the Dragon

Met our son in the Dragon Chinese restaurant in Torry St. in Wellington.

It's always nice to see him, and catch up on his life.  (Don't tell him, but I'm always proud of him, and love him deeply, no matter what he does.) It must be quite scary, flatting in a foreign country, trying to make ends meet while he's working as a barrista and also trying to expand his web design business.  All we can do is support him by letting him know there's always a home for him with us.

Regarding the Dragon restaurant , don't.

It got good reviews in the press (It used to be the Eastern Sunrise) but the Yam Cha they served were really low quality.  The minced pork, the basis of many of the dumplings which make up the Yam Cha (or Dim Sum) was really crap.  It was more like a meat paste rather than freshly minced pork.  This Dragon needs a St. George to put it out of it's misery.  We' ll try the Grand Century up at the top of Torry St., it's supposed to make all their own dumplings rather than buy them in.

Finished off with a cup of coffee in Te Papa.  I've always liked Te Papa from the first day I was in NZ.  Even the words Te Papa, Our Place" is so welcoming.  Anyway went to the Level 4 coffee shop (not the cheap and cheerful cafe in the basement), had our coffee and a treat.  The NZ Symphony Orchestra was giving a recital down on Level 1, so we sat in comfortable armchairs, sipping good quality flat whites (Earl Grey Tea for my beloved) while being regaled by beautiful music drifting up from below.

 I recognised "Night on a bare mountain" and excerpts from the Nutcracker plus others from "Fairy Story" pieces.

What a lovely way to finish the day.

I really think that this is the best way to enjoy classical music.  Sitting comfortably, sipping the beverage of your choice, talking to your loved ones while still enjoying the music, going to the loo without too much disturbance (an increasing priority as age encroaches) and not having to actually see the poor, sweating hard working musicians.

Actually I remember some years ago, watching the NZSO playing in the Michael Usher Hall, and being absolutely entranced by the gleaming thighs and heaving bosom of a particularly enchanting cello player, so watching the musicians is not always a bad thing.

Gods of Double Bass

I never knew the double bass could sound like this.