All Eyes And Ears

After this, in the film, the composer speaks of the appeal folksong had for him and describes British musical life as a pyramid, its apex the virtuosi and composers, then the 'devoted musical practitioners... spreading the knowledge and love of music in our schools, our choral societies, our music festivals', then 'that great mass of musical amateurs who make music for the love of it', and finally 'the great tunes... upon which everything must stand.'

The above is from the excellent notes, by Michael Kennedy, in the booklet accompanying the CD featuring Ralph Vaughan Williams's post-WW2 music for the film The Dim Little Island, that featured in my listening yesterday afternoon. I was thinking, amongst other things, of RVW's ruminations on English music as I attended the play from our Independent Stage yesterday evening. And I was also thinking of what a lovely venue the little amphitheatre makes for an evening show and how much I'd enjoyed being there for our performances of As You Like It in July last year. As I arrived I realised that I actually felt more nervous as a spectator waiting for the show to begin and hoping it would go well than I did last year as someone involved in the making of the experience who had lots of stuff to do, serving to channel whatever anticipatory nervousness I might have felt. Apart from anything else I was mildly worried about the possibility of a sudden downpour which, considering the fact we spectators were out under the darkening evening sky, was likely to disrupt the on-going drama.

In fact, it did start to pour about fifty-five minutes into How to Sell Your Art from the Grave, but if anything this added to the whole experience of the show. The cast manfully - and, indeed, womanfully - kept going for the five minutes of rain whilst a fair number of those watching without brollies (self included) went to grab some of those thoughtfully provided at stage left or take shelter at the covered side of the stage. And the show went on since nobody elected to run away, everyone being thoroughly engaged and wanting to know how the clever plot would work itself out. Oh, and I should say I put a stop to my initial worrying and just opened myself to a rather selfish enjoyment about two minutes into the show by which time it was obvious that it was all well put together and was going to work.

But what has any of this got to do with the art of RVW that I'd been meditating upon, or Art in general? Lots, in my eyes.

I'm of the firm belief that the grounds for the production of great art in a nation lie in receptive audiences and enthusiastic amateurs and the inherent excitement of creativity balanced against the necessary commitment to make things happen; and the pyramid referenced above is a sort of necessary structure for all of this. And yesterday evening I felt that Zackary's finely crafted play, so exact its variety of linguistic rhythms (the demotic, the artistic-critical) and its broader rhythms of dramatic construction, both powerfully reflected and added to the development of drama in this Far Place. The fact that the piece as a whole was a commentary of sorts on how Art might manifest itself here on this not-so-dim but very little island was peculiarly appropriate to my mood and confirmed, for me at least, a simple truth about all nations and all their peoples. We have a deep-rooted, uncompromising, absolute need for Art - drama, music, painting, dance, poetry - whatever form serves for us to find ways of expressing what it is to be alive.

I think everyone who attended the show, felt all the more vitally alive for doing so. And I'm sure everyone involved in its making had their lives deepened and enriched and extended by that experience.