A Glimpse Of Art

Happened to pop into the Art Room today on a bit of business. It's always a good place to be as you get a chance to view a lot of the students' work in progress. In fact, I've always considered the art rooms in every school I've ever been in as the best areas to hang out in.

But today was a bit special. On entering I caught sight of quite a large canvas leaning against a table and it was stunning in every detail. The essence of the piece was a youthful figure eyeing the viewer, but with the glance partly obscured by a piece of clothing held in front of the face of the figure. There was more to the composition than that, a lot more actually, but that alone was compelling. And not just for me. Chris Talbot happened to be with me and once I'd pointed out the canvas he readily agreed about its odd power.

The oddness came, I think, from the fact that there was a strong sense of meaning about the painting yet also a feeling that you were projecting something onto what was essentially a simple canvas.

On exiting Chris made the observation that the work on view in the room generally was a lot more rewarding than that hung in the average 'real' gallery - and he was absolutely right.

Houseguest 3

We take our responsibilities as temporary parents for the little fellah very seriously. As role models we are conscious of the need to influence him in positive ways in all the important aspects of his life. We know that important choices lie ahead for him, and we need to do all that is in our power to ensure he makes wise and healthy ones.

In Public

Insofar as a programme detailing the downfall, as it were, of a famous film star (do they still use the term?) can be reasonably tasteful, the one I saw yesterday managed to give some sense of genuine sympathy for the actor in question. I still felt somewhat soiled watching the thing though, and it says little for my character that I continued to watch. It wasn't that I was terribly desirous to discover the grim details; simply that the spectacle of the train wreck was compelling. Some dreadful voice messages the guy was assumed to have sent in a particularly violent, drunken outburst had the power of the bleakest kind of drama.

I really have no idea whether the guy is basically a decent sort bought low by alcohol and betrayal, or a nasty piece of work whose innate nastiness is inevitably unravelling. But I do know I'm deeply glad I'm not him or at all close to his condition.

At one point there was a clip of him saying something to the effect that public humiliation is every one's worse fear. It's not mine actually, not even close. In fact, such humiliation is something I think I could survive with relative ease. So the sheer fact of the making of the programme I was watching - humiliation on the grandest of scales whichever way you cut it - had an awful ironic power in itself.

It was all deeply and strangely, almost pointlessly sad. And the fact that there are people far, far worse off than this guy, and far more worthy of attention, just added to the sadness.

A Glimpse Of Passion

I've been meaning to sit down and watch the DVD I bought a little while back of Sondheim's show Passion, but just haven't found the time somehow. When we were in KL it was Sunday In The Park With George that made it to the player, partly because since Karen had been kind enough to lend it I felt a certain moral obligation to watch. Also the fact I knew the show well from my CD didn't hurt. It helps to have some enthusiasm for viewing something I find when you have as little enthusiasm for watching anything on telly as I have.

Unfortunately Sondheim's own comments on Passion from Look, I Made A Hat haven't stoked any great enthusiasm in me for watching it. He makes the whole concept sound, well, difficult. I've never been that keen on obsessive love as a theme, and the notion of a terribly unattractive young lady sort of stalking a very good looking man as the centre of the plot of a musical just doesn't do anything for me.

But, then, this is Sondheim so there's a level of trust that you're going to get something worth your time and attention. It was with this thought in mind that I had a look at the first part of the show earlier today. I knew I wouldn't have time for the whole thing, but I was curious to watch at least something of it. And what I saw was impressive, but a touch forbidding. It wasn't easy to relate to the story. But there was a fascination in the challenge being set and a reminder that it's not always a good thing to be comfortable with the stories you are told. In fact, quite possibly it's simply never a good thing, which might account for the sense of emptiness I experience watching most modern films. They are designed to appeal to their audiences after all, above all. This wasn't.

In Development

We have survived young Afnan for almost two weeks now and, indeed, he has survived us. In fact, in just two weeks it's been possible to see him developing new skills, especially new ways of disturbing our sleep. Or, rather, the old ways refined in exciting and noisy ways.

That's the thing about very young children, there's no such thing as a routine. The game of picking up the big coaster from the table turns quickly into the game of turning it over to its green felt side assisted by Uncle Brian, and getting plenty of saliva on that, and then, with the magic of the passage of one day, assistance is no longer necessary - though saliva is routinely plentiful.

All of which means, of course, you can never be entirely sure what the lad is up to as he wrestles with the unforgiving geometry and weight of the world.

Expecting The Impossible

We're at the mid-point of the Islamic month of Syaaban. Which means it's important to think of the challenges ahead in Ramadhan. And the main challenge: being better than you actually are. Tricky. The astonishing thing is, now and then it comes true, insha'allah. 

What's In A Name?

Got home reasonably early from work and spent quality time listening to Soft Machine's third album, cunningly entitled Third. Did so at a reasonable volume as the Missus and youngster are out for the day. Puzzled over one of the minor mysteries of our time: why is the production on Third so bad? Great music but sonically the equivalent of a bog, and I'm talking about a bog with attitude.

But this led to a happier thought. Isn't Soft Machine the coolest name ever for a band? It manages to sound soothing and menacing all at one go. And the nod to Burroughs gives it huge cultural cachet. (Steely Dan come a close second on the cachet, of course, and add a touch of naughty irony, but the actual name doesn't do a lot in itself.)

And that led me to consider the other extreme. What might be considered the dorkiest name ever for a group? Oddly, the answer came immediately. Think of those lovable lads from Liverpool - the fab four themselves. We're so habituated to the idea of The Beatles we forget what a gormless moniker it really is. Just about the only thing going for it is the implied homage to Buddy Holly's Crickets, but even that is undercut by the horrendous pun.

Just as a matter of interest, I know for a fact how silly it really sounds because I remember the first time most of England, and my younger self, heard it on the telly. This was at the time of the release of Love Me Do when the single was first played on Juke Box Jury. The panel, the studio audience, my family and myself all chuckled at the sheer silliness of hearing anyone referred to as beetles, and I distinctly remember the six- or seven-year-old version of me thinking, before the song was played, This is going to be a novelty record and a one-hit wonder at best. At least the thought was to that effect even if the word novelty was not yet in my vocabulary. So there we are. I rest my case.

Coasting

Today finished that odd little anthology of pieces, poetry and prose, entitled Coast (in which all the pieces are entitled Coast, geddit?) that I bought at Books Actually a little while back. I mentioned in an earlier post that Alfian Sa'at's contribution was the best so far, and this remained the case to the end. In fact, a few of the offerings were not exactly first-rate, or even second- for that matter) but that didn't spoil my read.

The truth is, I think reading weak stuff that claims to be lit is a fruitful activity in a number of ways. For starters, it puts you on your critical mettle - you're forced to make a judgement along the lines of, If this doesn't work what's gone wrong, or is it just me? Also, unless you're in a destructive frame of mind, you can have fun sorting the wheat from the chaff: Which bits of this would be worth keeping or indicate that the writer isn't completely beyond the pale?

Most important, at least for me, is the sense of trying to connect with the concerns of much younger writers than myself - for the most part - and figuring out what's fueling them. At times this is little more than adolescent (or post-adolescent) angst, but as Don Paterson wisely points out that's pretty much what fuels the reality of feeling behind Shakespeare's Sonnets, and if it was good enough for him...

In Style

I've not been watching Euro 2012 since getting back from Malaysia, except for brief highlights, because:

1) You have to pay an arm and a leg for it here, in contrast to getting excellent coverage buckshee (well, through ordinary Astro payments) over the boarder;

2) Once England got knocked out all the emotion went out of it for me - but not that I expected anything of them really;

3) I'm too old to stay up watching at three in the morning, and it would have been impossible to find too much time to watch during the day due to present circumstances, what with work and houseguest and everything.

Having said all that, I'm pleased Spain won it by a country mile since they are playing easily the best football on the planet - even when they pack the midfield. Just the little bits I've seen make that very clear. Finally, the beautiful game played beautifully.

Great Guitar Solos 4

When I first started this little series, and named Richard Thompson as the perpetrator of one of my all-time favourite solos, the one (or, to be technically accurate, two) I'm talking about today was not the one I had in mind. This minor contradiction doesn't actually surprise me though because even as I named him I was aware of quite a number of solos that could easily have made the, when all is said and done somewhat arbitrary, list. The man's work over decades has been never less than stunning, both in terms of song-writing and guitar playing, and characterised by a sense of inventiveness that keeps it all fresh and varied. Invariably the solo, extended or sparely economic, fits the song and is somehow right.

That was the case with the original solo on Shoot Out The Lights, but in live performance the great man has transcended that any number of times. The version on the live performance captured on the 3 CD Watching The Dark set is a case in point. But then I came across Mr Thompson's performance of Shoot Out The Lights with Elvis Costello and the Imposters, which can be found on youtube.com, where I chanced on it, here, and, to my delight, I enjoyed what I reckon is his best version ever. Of course, it helps having Elvis and the gang around - Steve Nieve's organ-playing is particularly outstanding - but it still seems remarkable that he pulled out all the stops in what must have been a somewhat atypical situation in which to perform.

Incredibly I think the second solo towards the end tops the first, helped by his detuning the lowest string. It's that sense of controlled discord, so in keeping with the nature of the song, that makes everything so utterly right. And the superfast strumming, especially in the first solo (or, perhaps, we might regard it as Part 1 of a single solo) eerily reminiscent of Robert Fripp, again both impresses technically, but, far more importantly, is right for the mood of the piece, suggesting chaos and outrage all at once.

When will he get a knighthood, or a grammy for that matter?