A Bit Special

Jazz - A History of America's Music, the companion volume to Ken Burns's PBS documentary, has been on my bookshelves for almost two decades now. It was a very generous present from Peter and Iris on my fiftieth birthday, chosen, I'm guessing, because Peter had picked up on my particular enthusiasm for the work of Wynton Marsalis and the great trumpeter had his name all over the documentary. 

For some reason I didn't see any real need to read the handsome volume all the way through initially. It seemed more like the kind of coffee table book that was worth browsing occasionally for the wonderful pictures, and dipping into now and then for specific bits - looking up what it had to say about classic albums, for example.

Gosh, was I wrong about that. Fortunately I elected to give the book the cover-to-cover treatment a couple of months back and discovered that whilst its engaging anecdotes made for enjoyable reading as individual 'bits', its main writer, Geoffrey C. Ward, had captured in the sweep of the narrative a deeply engaging and insightful history not just of jazz as a genre, but of the US itself, especially, though by no means exclusively, the experience of black Americans in the face of grim oppression.

Of necessity there are some deeply sad sections of the text. Many of the stories about Charlie Parker, to take but one example, are perplexing and almost heart-breaking. But the sense of often astounding creativity is ultimately life-enhancing. Ken Burns identifies Louis Armstrong as the central figure in all this, and it's easy to see his point, but Duke Ellington, already something of a musical hero in my eyes prior to reading the tome, emerged as the most heroic of all in his unmatched elegance and humour in the face of all that life could throw at him. And being a genius in his field helped.

I'm now seriously thinking of getting hold of the authors' book on the Civil War. If it's half as good as this one it will be something special.

Stunned x 100

Didn't want The Brothers Karamazov to end, but it did for me yesterday. My assumption that Dostoevsky would somehow sustain the brilliance of his final novel to the last page was borne out. I'm not sure about the circumstances of its composition, but, like Dickens, the impression of astonishing spontaneity within a capacious frame dominated my reading. And, as with Dickens at his best (Little Dorrit, Bleak House, Our Mutual Friend) Dostoevsky seemed to know exactly how to put his magical jigsaw of meaning together.

In truth, the Russian Master's superiority over The Inimitable, in this novel at least, was wonderfully obvious. To take a single example: both writers are unafraid to deal with the unashamedly sentimental, but in Dickens's case this can topple over into something so blatantly manipulative that even in his greatest fiction there's the danger of unintended bathos. In contrast, Dostoevsky's sentimentality is so vividly sincere that it overwhelms.

The ending of The Brothers Karamazov, focused on a child's funeral, in a sub-plot entirely distinct from the central thrust of the novel really shouldn't work. But it's a triumph. Completely unexpected yet perfect in its evocation of grief and suffering and resilience. 

I'm still rearranging my head over all this.

In Action

Was pleased, but not surprised, over the news of the British High Court's decision that Palestine Action cannot be banned under the UK government's anti-terrorism laws. It'll be good news, to say the least, for the more than 2500 brave souls (lots of my advanced age and older) who've been arrested for supporting the organisation since its proscription. It seems that Yvette Cooper has been on the telly today defending the legislation and insisting there are good reasons for the ban, yet as far as I'm aware she yet again failed to give any solid indication of what the authorities know about Palestine Action that leads them to think the group is nefarious enough to warrant singling out in this way. I reckon I might have half-believed Ms Cooper, a politician for whom I have some respect, two decades ago, but the track record of every UK govt since Blair's in terms of their transparency apropos dealings in the Middle East has led me towards a position of intensely healthy scepticism regarding what they claim to be their honest dealings.

I think the news might come as a bit of relief to The Missus since I've made it very clear that if we happen to find ourselves in the UK when marches related to the situation in Gaza are on-going, then I'll make sure I'm there declaring my support for the proscribed group. It isn't that I'm keen to serve time in one of His Majesty's prisons (especially not Strangeways, thank you) but if necessary I will. And getting sent down for holding up a cartoon has a real appeal about it.

True Romance

For me it's been a day spent getting up close and personal with Fyodor Dostoevsky. Meanwhile Noi has been a good deal more productive in her ironing and biscuiting. All built on the solid base of an exchange of suitably slushy cards this morning and a flower or two in the afternoon. None of this setting the world on fire, I suppose, but keeping it nicely warm.

Embracing The Peace

Didn't need to rush back to work after Friday Prayers for once, so we enjoyed teh & vadai & samosas at the Al Rayyan eatery at the back of Masjid Darussalam as the early afternoon flowed gently around us. Nice to conclude a week spent running around, sometimes enjoyably, sometimes in a mild panic, with three hours of distinct peace. The younger version of myself seemed to need to be active & involved, if memory serves me well; the older version, not so much. A lesson learned there somewhere.

The Human Touch

Found myself back at the National University Hospital for a couple of hours this afternoon, fulfilling my final scheduled appointment with my brain doctor. We reached agreement that my grey matter is functioning effectively, I'm happy to say, which means I have no further appointments scheduled related to my mental & physical breakdown of late 2022, which means I'm a very happy soldier indeed.

Funnily enough I enjoy being around the hospital, and I think Noi does too, so in a way I'll miss popping up there now and again. In truth, since I owe my life to the care of their excellent doctors, nurses and ancillary staff I harbour a genuine affection for the place such that I find it difficult to criticise the organisation on any level. Which is why I've felt severely conflicted regarding my irritation over their records department - and manfully avoided expressing that irritation in this Far Place. But today I'm going to say something.

And that something is this: I reckon it was a big mistake for the hospital administrators to close down the actual office where people could go to in order to ask for their records and put the whole shebang online. The app they provide to enhance communications in general terms is fine, but not in relation to trying to get one's records. I know this for sure since I've been trying to get hold of material that I need to apply for medical insurance in Malaysia and I just couldn't navigate the system (for a full three months). This wasn't due to my sometimes wilful inadequacy in relation to the wonders of tech. Take my word for it, it was genuinely impossible.

But here's the thing. Today, I triumphed and finally got access to what I needed (fairly desperately as I have an application deadline to negotiate) but this wasn't through the help of the app. The doctor I went to see actually listened to the problem I faced sympathetically and went to considerable trouble to contact an amazing lady, Ms Jessica Ko from the records department, who literally ran around initially to find us and then assist us in completing the necessary paperwork to get what we needed, and somehow remained smiling throughout.

So wobbly human stuff once again out-performs the super-efficient and probably expensive system that most likely has put a fair few folk out of work in the interests of cost savings. Could there be a lesson in all this?

A Strong Start

After an eventfully fun-packed day we got back in time to catch the first episode of the second series of Cuci on Suria TV. This is the show based on the unlikely premise of the dealings of a post-traumatic cleaning company (hope I phrased that correctly) based in this Far Place. It's a genuinely excellent programme, and, based on this first episode, it looks as if the quality of the first series is going to be maintained.

By its very nature the content veers towards the potentially melodramatic - tonight's episode opened with a brutal murder - but the writers somehow keep it grounded in the realities of day-to-day life. There was a typically thought-provoking sequence based around the stress and strain of being in a fairly low-income occupation just now that genuinely furrowed the brow without any strained emoting.

Sometimes it's enough to just quietly become the character without doing much at all of anything.

Stunned

If anyone had told me before today that it was possible for me to be utterly stunned by the depiction of an act of violence in a work of fiction I would told them that that was next to impossible. After all, this is a reader who took Blood Meridian in his stride and that's about as extreme as it's possible to get. (Actually, I found McCarthy's great novel extremely disturbing, but I could cope without physically shuddering.)

And then today I read the conclusion of Chapter 3, Book 11 of The Brothers Karamazov. To say my reaction to Dostoevsky's penultimate paragraph was visceral is an understatement. To add to the impact, I happened to be reading it in a very public place and had to hide my state of disturbance. Fortunately I was able to cover up. Just.

A Sense Of Accomplishment

Saddened by the recent news that the Pangs are winding up their company Pangdemonium. I can't say I've seen a huge amount of what they've put on stage, but every show I've seen has been obviously first rate. In fact, I'm feeling a tad guilty I wasn't able to give them more support than I did in terms of watching their stuff. But that's something of a sort of systemic problem here. Productions have short runs and schedules are unforgiving. (I know that sounds like a weak excuse, but it's actually a strong one. Case in point: I was intending to attend the two most recent SSO concerts, but on both the nights in question it was absolutely impossible that I could have got to the concert hall. Grrgh!) 

Must say though, I reckon that Mr & Mrs Pang must feel a remarkable sense of accomplishment given the quantity and quality of work they've somehow managed to get up on those stages across the decades. I've long been of the opinion that much as producing great drama, poetry, prose, music, painting, sculpture and all that arty stuff depends on talented individuals, the sense of a supportive 'arts scene' is a necessity. And the contribution of those who put in the hard labour to carve out that scene can be curiously over-looked. Happily, it seems the Pangs are being genuinely celebrated for their achievements.

I hope they've made a ship-load of money, but rather suspect they haven't.

Eyes Wide Open

Over the last year or so I've learned one heck of a lot from James Payne's Great Art Explained videos on YouTube. Watching them (usually more than once) has been a reminder of what a boon it is to sit at the feet of a great and enthusiastic teacher.

Yesterday I was blown away by his account of Mark Rothko's Seagram Murals. I've had the great good fortune to have visited the room in The Tate with nine of the murals exhibited and that was quite an experience, but I wish I'd known then what I know now through Mr Payne's brilliant commentary.

I've never really been able to 'see' visual art through my own limited eyes. It's quite something to have the privilege of the vision of others.