Gertsamtkunstwerk

Wannabe

For a long time, I have been closely associated with Dawn French.

I say 'closely associated' but I don't want anybody to think I'm name dropping. I've never actually met Dawn, and I would hate anyone, least of all her, to think I am inappropriately name-dropping.

But Google my real name, and you are confronted with very many Vicar of Dibley references. One Comic Relief night I was curled up on my sofa, and the Lovely Dawn came on, dressed in a identical pair of pyjamas to those I was wearing.

However, I have decided that I am no longer in my Dawn French phase. I want to be Jennifer Saunders. I want to be scary. And in a few years I want to be Sue Johnston.

The first episode of Jam and Jerusalem looked promising. League of Gentlemen for middle-aged women. And why not! Oh, Joanna Lumley is really quite gorgeous in it (I'm kidding...!). It remains to be seen whether subsequent episodes manage to run with the ball or peter off in a damp squib. It probably won't appeal to achingly-trendy cutting-edge emotionally-illiterate culturally-vacuumed twenty-somethings, but frankly who gives a toss when the whole of the rest of the media is given over disproportionately to this group, not because of their taste and judgement, but because of their utter gullibility to the advertising and the fake lifestyle it pimps. I mean, who would aspire to the Ladies League, or want to live in Clatterford St Mary any more than they would in Royston Vasey?

One of the many nice things about getting older is that I no longer watch TV drama (or sitcom) through aspirational eyes, but objectively enjoying the portrayal of alien yet spookily familiar characters. Back in the days, one was supposed to declare which member of the 'Friends' or 'Sex in the City' cast one most resembled. As if those shallow cretins were something to look up to...I mean, honestly. There's no one in Jam and Jerusalem to aspire to. Except Jennifer Saunders. And Sue Johnson. Oh, and I suppose, Joanna Lumley, too.

Sunday night

I went out last night. I love it when you've stood at Stockwell for nearly 37 minutes, and are suddenly building up hope, what with the Dot Matrix indicator saying "Edgware via Bank 1" to see a scrolling marquee announcing "Please avoid the Northern Line due to severe delays. Tickets accepted on local buses..." It poses a real dilemma. Do I get this train coming, and live in fear of there being no connecting service at Kennington, or do I follow instructions and get the bus, even though there's a perfectly adequate Victoria Line running just yards behind me. I worked out my strategy. Fortunately, a Charing X train turned up immediately at Kennington. Phew!

There's a screen at Brixton that tells you when there are delays on lines. It's super-douper 21st century state of the art, quite possibly up-to-the-minute, centrally controlled and widely distributed piece of information. But like everyone else, I prefer the intermediate tech of the colour coded whiteboard and its enigmatic messages - Passenger Incident, Faulty Train, Driver's Teabreak. I made the last one up.

I met up with my friends and we proceeded to enjoy the English National Opera's Gala in aid of the ENO Pension Fund. Two, maybe three, world-class singers, plus an impressive array of has-beens, also-rans and wannabes. Not to mention an illustrious line-up of no-shows. Perhaps I shall write more at length, but I'm not really sure what, other than "it was enjoyable; the Gilbert and Sullivan was terminably naff; I really can do without 'Opera in English';". Highlights - Simon "Shirtless" Keenlyside opened up with something from Pagliacci before, presumably, pulling on his leathers, mounting his motorbike and speeding off into the sunset up the M4; the party from Traviata - okay the bullfight scene was a bit contrived and English but it all came together. The soprano, Linda Richardson, was rather lovely, and by supreme serendipity I had just hours previously booked a fun Raymond Gubbay Opera Gala at the Barbican, with her in the line-up, so that's good! The tenor was Wynne Evans. Not top drawer but definitely worth a mention of praise.

The highlight and the lowlight managed to combine in one ensemble, the Soave sia Il vento (from Cosi) where the mezzo manage to be so totally off pitch it was astounding, and then suddenly, this gorgeous baritone comes out shiningly sublime in that wonderful phrase (much more gorgeous than on the not-to-be-sniffed-at recording I have indoors - the Karl Böhm set, where Walter Berry is the Don Alfonso). The baritone in question was the lovely Gerald Finley, taking this on at short notice after Sir Thomas "Don Alfonso" Allen cancelled. It was one of those moments-to-be-cherished that make all the indifferent and mediocre nights out well worth it. So when Tom retires, or retires Don Alfonso, will Gerald be stepping in?

Afterwards, it being a fund-raiser a whole collection of celebrity charity muggers posed with collecting buckets. It's on occasions like this that you do really start to wonder about the Great British Public. Michael Portillo had been specifically thanked from the stage for heading up the committee. As we were going down the stairs, I overheard this woman saying "I wonder if Michael Portillo's going to be there with collecting bucket". One of her friends pointed out that he was actually very visible near the front door with a preposterously bright blue shirt and brilliant tie. Later he was seen with collecting bucket, so this woman - would you believe it -, to the obvious disdain of her friends, actually went and put her money in Portillo's bucket, and was rewarded (?) with an Ooze of Portillo-esque charm. Later, when this same woman was leaving the pub, she spotted the selfsame Portillo crossing over towards Trafalgar Square.

Some of us, with long memories, shudder.

One thing I can't understand about the Northern Line. why is it, even in the evenings, even on a Sunday evening, there are more City trains than West End trains. It makes sense during the day, but the City's almost dead at night at weekends, and it's a pain waiting for a Charing X train that turns up packed to the rafters, and then having to change at Kennington.

Hear the World

Domingo Lends Voice to Hearing Impaired

Placido Domingo's latest project is music to the ears of the hearing-impaired. The tenor, paired with the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, is speaking for a global effort called "Hear the World" to raise awareness about hearing loss and to offer the latest technology to those in need - especially in developing countries.

"Music is my emotional need. I therefore feel sad for anyone who cannot hear music..."There seems to be a stigma about being hard-of-hearing," Domingo said. "Let's consider the difference between seeing trouble and hearing trouble. No one gives a second thought to wearing glasses in order to improve sight, but too many people would rather ask five times, 'What did you say?' than wear a hearing aid."

First Emperor Blog

Live from Lincoln Center or some such.

To be honest, they haven't quite sussed out the geeky side of blogging* but, you know, it's there...

via

* unrebuilt category pages, poor index page

Holiday photos

I am slowly going through my October holiday photos and publishing some of the better ones.

I have found that many of them are too blue*, and thought it was a fault with my camera. I was watching last week's 'Coast', from St Ives in Cornwall, where they demonstrated how blue the light is there, and mentioned a similarity to Greece, and also mentioned North Facing bays. So I learnt something new and reassuringly useful!

In a now established tradition, I bring you pictures of me topless (View this photo) on the beach (View this photo ).   If you are reading this at work, you have been warned...

* as in not red or green, rather than pornographic

Rosa Luxemburg

Róża Luksemburg is the next of my wild women, and the first one so far where I feel ashamed that I know a lot less about her than I really ought to. I actually don't think that I studied her after O-Level history Weimar Republic. I did a module called 'Socialism' at University, which made up one-eighth of my Finals. And Rosa Luxembourg didn't figure. Which says a great deal about the patriarchal and conservative nature of my degree course. Or maybe about my attendance record...

Wikipedia has a fairly lengthy article, with external references, which I won't try to summarise, but will précis their summary

Rosa Luxemburg was a Polish-born German Marxist political theorist, socialist philosopher, and revolutionary. She was a theorist of the Social Democratic Party of the Kingdom of Poland, later becoming involved in the German SPD, followed by the Independent Social Democratic Party of Germany. She started the journal Die Rote Fahne (The Red Flag). After the support by the SPD for the German participation in World War I, she co-founded the Spartacist League,  that later became the Communist Party of Germany. It took part in an unsuccessful revolution in Berlin in January 1919. The uprising was accompanied by Luxemburg's propaganda, and crushed by the remnants of the monarchist army and right wing freelance militias collectively called the Freikorps. Luxemburg and hundreds of others were captured, tortured, and killed. Since their deaths, Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht have attained great symbolic status amongst democratic socialists and Marxists.

Someone I worked with named her daughter Rosa; her son was Lev, after Trotsky. I tend to link Luxembourg in my mind with Antonio Gramsci. But this category is not about men...

Although I know very little about Rosa Luxembourg, the ideas as summarised in the Wikipedia article are familiar and I could spout on at length.  She argued that an independent Poland could only come about through revolutions in Germany, Austria, and Russia; the struggle should be against capitalism itself, and not for an independent Poland.

She also argued against the First World War and its build-up from years previously, stating that the workers should unite internationally in a General Strike against war. Eric Hobsbawn argued that World War One was a war fought for the benefit of capitalists; it certainly did few favours for the workers. But I have to say that I can't really see how war can benefit Capitalism, either, except to the extent that there are super-profits to be made in the short term from armaments and related industries. This was demonstrated in the aftermath of the First World  War, and explains why Schuman and Monnet were so driven to set up the European Coal and Steel Community which led to what is now the European Union.

Luxembourg and her comrades found that the proletariat were not open to persuasion, preferring instead to absorb the nationalistic, jingoistic, bellicose propaganda of the ruling classes. The SPD in Germany adopted a bipartisan approach to the war, leading Luxembourg and others to split. (The history of all hitherto existing parties of the left is the history of factional splits and splinters;  people write whole books on this, which, I assume, no one actually reads. Life of Brian does it better).

Rosa was a revolutionary, and argued that the revolution needed proletariat spontaneity and central organisation to co-exist, which is why Trots repeat their mantra about 'organising for the revolution'.  She criticised the Bolshevik Revolution as not being from the proletariat, but, rather, a bourgeoisie reaction to proletariat power. They failed to follow Marx's argument  that the role of the working class was to organize, arm and defend themselves, to campaign for a socialist political program,  expanding  workers rights, and to seize and farm intensively and collectively the old feudal estates, so as to feed the cities.

In my heart of hearts I agree with Rosa Luxembourg; a proletariat revolution is theoretically desirable. But I don't think it's possible at present, at least not in "the West". What we have is a form of semi-enlightened capitalism masquerading as democracy, where the bourgeoisie have realised that the status quo will endure as long as the petit bourgeoisie can believe themselves to be superior to the proletariat, most of who aspire to the petit bourgeoisie. Gramsci introduced the concept of cultural hegemony and his followers  believe that if the proletariat are educated to high ideals and standards, a socialist utopia will dawn, ruled in an enlightened and benign way by the educated proletariat.

I don't think it's wrong in principle, but currently, there is little chance of fighting the cultural hegemony of the bourgeoisie who have constructed our modern society to give us the illusion of being free and autonomous citizens, whereas we are  consumers, no less slaves than the proletariat of a century ago. Perhaps the greatest challenge to bourgeois  values is coming from the green movement, but environmentalists also have to tackle the problem of cultural hegemony and consumerism, and persuade us that we would be better off if we rejected capitalism. There should be a natural coalition between greens and socialists, but radical socialism is dominated by protecting jobs, and feels threatened by any movement that calls for less production. Whereas, surely, Greens and Socialists and Pacifists - should be uniting to end the exploitation of the Earth's Natural Resources, including people, by the greedy capitalists.

Peace, Poverty and the Planet...

I'm doing a series of blogposts based upon a much-loved t-shirt

I due foscari

Early rarely performed Verdi, dating from 1844, two years after his first 'hit' Nabucco and seven years before the 'middle period' opened with Rigoletto. Set in the 15th century.

Synopsis; libretto

I was going to write a long and considered blogpost on this, but doing so might deprive me of the will to live. I recorded this off the TV. What a waste of half a video tape.

Gorgeous Verdi tunes played, as far as I can tell, rather sensitively by the orchestra of La Scala under the baton of Riccardo Muti. Just a shame about the screeching and squawking coming from the stage.

Worst of all is the shockingly bad Francisco Casanova in the role of Jacopo but Dimitra Theodossiu
as Lucrezia is scarcely any better. The normally reliable, if dull, Leo Nucci is less then reliable here.

I would like to hear it with a decent cast - Opera Nights, describing it generally considered to be the best of Verdi's early operas recommends and in due course I think I might acquire this, because the caterwauling of the principals makes the version I have an physically painful experience.

Onwards through the alphabet, the next being early Puccini...

"Tenorissimo! Archive is now closed"

Tenorissimo!

Say this isn't so!

Does anybody know why?

Anything we can do about this?

Although the Wayback Machine is very very useful...

Weird search requests

I've got loads of really weird ones backing up but two have just come in since I've been home (half day sick with every limb in my body aching, including ones I didn't know I had)

The first is "Sexiest MP Alan Simpson". I knew Alan twenty years ago, and always liked him as a person, and to this day admire him as a politician, but I never really thought of him as 'sexy' in a featuring on google way. But, it turns out, he's been voted Nottinghamshire's sexiest MP. And, you know, looking at that picture, I don't know how recent it is, but he hasn't changed an iota in twenty years.

And then, from the domain of a well-known weekly British magazine specialising in economics come a search for photos of the block of flats opposite where I live. It's due to be demolished, along with the Post Office and other small shops as part of the multi-million pound regeneration project, which will have (hopefully!) splendid outcomes, but will mean a great deal of building work to get there...

I don't have any photos of said block, but for a fee I could pop out and take some.

The Poor Mouth

The Poor Mouth

Occasionally, I like to give a mention to a blog* that I really like that appears to have escaped the radar of the usual mavens. I have known Jams a good few years; one day he came up to me in the street and said that he had found my blog via Bloggers4Labour and that he had recently started blogging. I nodded and smiled, as one does when some scruffy bloke approaches you in the street. I have to confess I rarely click on his embedded YouTubes, and I'm not a fan of kitten-blogging, but otherwise, it is a good informative and sometimes moving blog

* a few years ago, the long disappeared Bingobowden suggested that in his absence, we pick a blog randomly from his blogroll, and I picked one called Scaryduck and gave it a a bit of a plug. I wonder whatever happened to that blog...

Don Pasquale

By Donizetti The story doesn't matter. It's just a pretext for Donizetti to hang some beautiful music, which demands to be sung beautifully. Except for the title role, which, being a basso buffo part doesn't have to be bel canto.

I have copied a succinct synopsis from West Bay Opera

Don Pasquale, a foolish old bachelor in his sixties, has no heir. He hopes to persuade his young nephew Ernesto to accept an arranged marriage, but Ernesto is in love with the glamorous but penniless widow Norina and refuses to obey his uncle. Pasquale decides to solve the problem by getting married himself. Despite his age, he is determined to find a young wife. His friend, Dr. Malatesta, joins forces with Norina in a plot calculated to convince Pasquale that marriage is the last thing he wants. Norina is presented to the old man disguised as a sweet, innocent girl fresh from the convent school. The two are "married" in a bogus ceremony conducted by a fake notary. As soon as the marriage contract is signed, Norina turns into a shrew. She spends Pasquale's money on clothes and jewels, she demands the complete reorganization of the household, and she even pretends to be carrying on an affair right under her "husband's" nose. In the end, Pasquale is delighted to learn that his "marriage" was a sham and Norina is united with her beloved Ernesto.

More detail is at the NY Met's site; libretto; Aria Database

I have seen this live twice, with quite different casts, at the Royal Opera House, and would certainly recommend it to anybody with little familiarity with opera who likes good tunes. On both occasions I was lucky enough to get two strong casts with little scope for much criticism. This performance from Cagliari is not as good, which is not to say it's worthless.The cast is:

* Norina – Eva Mei
* Don Pasquale – Alessandro Corbelli
* Ernesto – Antonino Siragusa
* Dottor Malatesta – Roberto de Candia
* Un Notaro – Giorgio Gatti

I taped it off the TV, Artsworld, I think, and were it to be shown again, I would suggest watching it*

* sorry to be a bit UK-specific...I can only really talk about what's on UK TV, and trust that non-UK readers will be able to extrapolate for their own TV schedules

Coathangers

This is not going to be a rant about how my fiancé steals my coat-hangers and then leaves them hanging empty in his wardrobe for weeks on end, leaving me to wonder why I don't have any decent hangers suitable for jackets.

Nor am I going to confess to going through my fiancé's wardrobe to salvage my coat-hangers, transferring his jackets from my t-shirt hangers to one of about fifty wire coat-hangers left in his wardrobe; not to be confused with the twenty or so in my wardrobe or the approximately thirty in the under-the-stairs cupboard. Because it's pretty sneaky to go through one's partner's wardrobe, isn't it?

I won't divulge my OCD-ish need to have clothes hanging on the 'right' hanger. If it's from M&S, it goes onto M&S hangers; BHS likewise. I won't get into the details of a top having to go on the hanger that not only conforms with size but with vintage. I have four vintages of M&S hangers. Some very old, black with yellow on the label. We have two vintages of beige hangers, earlier ones with lots of writing on a red background, later with just two black digits on a solid red or white label. And now we have the black hangers, with the number on a little square that sits on the shoulders of the hanger. BHS follow the same convention. I wonder if these high street stores get together and decide on hanger rules.

Richards Shop never followed these rules, which is why they went broke. I did so like Richards. Their hangers are more robust than any other shop-provided hangers. I still have some Richards shop clothes, sadly reduced now to being worn round the house. Strangely, the Richards trousers I am currently wearing still fit me. As does the Next long-sleeved t-shirt. I'm not sure how old they are, but definitely pre-1998.

So, a just a very quick short blogpost to say. I cannot work out how to hang up trousers. I like to hang trousers so as to maintain the imaginary crease in the front and back of the legs. This seems to require inserting a hanger from front-to-back, but the hanging tabs, where they exist, are at the sides. I do like spring-loaded trouser hangers, but when the spring goes, the hanger is useless. Ones with clips are great, too, but the clips break. I don't like slinging them over a barred hanger, because it creates a horizontal crease at the knees.

How do your trousers hang?

Mata Hari

  A Dutch exotic dancer and courtesan who was executed by firing squad for alleged espionage during World War I.

Now that's beginning to sound a bit more wild. Married, two children, emigration to Java, where the housekeeper murdered the son,  and divorce, with the ex-husband taking custody of the daughter. as was customary in olden days.

No doubt penniless, she moved to Paris, where she performed as a circus horse rider and went by the name Lady MacLeod. Struggling to earn a living, she also worked as an artist's model.

In 1905, she began to win fame as an exotic Oriental-style dancer.

Promiscuous, flirtatious, and openly flaunting her body with a mystique that captivated both her audiences and the public, the act was spectacularly successful because it elevated exotic dance to a more respectable status. Her style and her free-willed attitude made her a very popular woman, as did her willingness to wear or perform in exotic and sexually explicit clothing. She posed for provocative photos, and mingled in wealthy circles.

She was also a successful courtesan, and had relationships with many high-ranking military officers, politicians and others in influential positions in many countries, including France, Russia and Germany. She was not known for being remarkably beautiful, but her spirit was overflowing with eroticism.

In happier times prior to World War I, she had been generally viewed as an artist, a free-spirited bohemian, but as the times grew more grim she began to be seen by some as a wanton and promiscuous woman, and perhaps a dangerous seductress. Her relationships and liaisons with powerful men took her across international borders frequently, which eventually would lead to her downfall.

Now that's what I call wild. Although, frankly, it could also be said that she was an abandoned wife, and unable to make a living 'respectably' she was forced into exploitation. Some women are destroyed by the abuse and degradation; others turn it to their advantage. She did the latter.

Her name is one that has lived on for a nearly a century after her execution, fictionalised and mythologised. A suitable role model? Hardly. But it's difficult not to admire a woman who turns necessity into legend. The internet seems to think there is little evidence that she was actually a double agent. My speculation is that she was,but she was really rubbish at it. I think she probably passed information to and from officers on both sides, but it was worthless tit bits they fed her to flatter her.

Were a I to produce a new 'Wild Women' t-shirt, I'd definitely have her on the short-list for inclusion.

I'm doing a series of blogposts based upon a much-loved t-shirt

The Stupidest Question Ever Asked...

How does one send an email to Microsoft?

I know that they are firm that specialises in computers, but they don't seem to have quite grasped the basic concept of the internet.

I tried to send them an email last night through their publicised 'abuse@' email address. But they sent me back an automated bounce message saying that they can't process it unless it's from a hotmail address.

That leaves me with two options - to telephone their Cambridge campus on an 0870 (expensive) number, which isn't very helpful, I don't think. Firstly, will I actually get to someone who can deal with something that originates in the USA. And secondly, if I do, I shall end up having to read out a hyperlink which, you know, might be just easier to communicate via an email.

Or I suppose I could get myself a hotmail address. I suspect I probably have about three already, no doubt clogged up with spam. Then I'd have to keep checking it on a web interface on the off-chance that they might reply, rather than waiting for a 'k-off email to drop into my inbox.

I can only conclude that Microsoft know less about t'internet than I do or that they are utterly indifferent to someone breaching their Terms of Use to break the laws of the USA and UK to make death threats.

It's going to have be a police matter, I think.

Crime victim

It is with very great gravity that I have to report that, yet again, the residents of Gert Cottage have been the innocent victim of a crime.

Someone nicked our wheelie bin.

Last night at about 2 am Jimmy heard the sound of a wheelie bin being wheeled past the window. He thought it a bit odd, but at 2 am one isn't inclined to leap out of bed, and challenge a wheelie-bin pusher with "Oi what are you doing?"

And when he left the house it was gone. He did a quick check round the neighbouring houses but, unsurprisingly, our upstanding neighbours hadn't crept out under cover of night. Jimmy reckons it was stolen to be used as a getaway vehicle in an unrelated crime.

Later I phoned the borough environmental services helpline* to report it stolen and request a new one. Perhaps with Jimmy's conspiracy theory on my mind I said, "Should I report it to the police?" and immediately thought "God, I'm stupid...". But the operator said "Yes please, and could you let us know the CAD number (crime number)". If I do, I'll get a letter from Victim Support.

I think Victim Support do a marvellous job and I also recognise that they do offer counselling to all crime victims without making value judgements about what is serious and isn't. For example, a theft of a wheelie bin might in some cases be the final straw of a traumatic saga of harassment and intimidation. However, I assure you that I am not traumatised but just irritated that we'll have to leave our rubbish in bags, which probably won't be collected.

In other crime victim news, I stepped out of the lift today to come face to face with my MilkSnatcher who looked me up and down in a contemptuous manner so favoured by catty teenage girls. If that isn't an admission of guilt, what is!

And I think I have collected my second enemy in a week. The other evening I stepped out of the building and was vaguely aware of somebody sounding off in a despising tone. I was rather shocked to then hear my name spat out with some venom. I didn't know her, and I don't go round trying to upset people at work, well apart from my own team, but that's not trying, that just happens. So I'm really puzzled as to what I could have done to make a complete stranger (albeit one I share a building with - along with about 4,000 others) hate me. It can't be work related, and I don't recognise her from my local area, so I'm at a complete loss as to know why...All I can say is, if it's work related, there are procedures. And if it's not work-related, it shouldn't be brought to work, even if we were technically on the public highway.

*by the way, Option 1 - Streetcare and Recycling doesn't seem the obvious choice for household rubbish related enquiries. But process of eliminating Options 2-4 makes me think it is...Plain English, please

Podcast alert

Exclusiva

This week one of the top tenors in the world will be my guest on the Exclusiva webcast and podcast. No tenor has ever sung as many operatic roles as Plácido Domingo has - more than 120 live and recorded parts. If you have a comment or want to ask the Maestro a question please post it here. We will record the interview tomorrow Wednesday, November 15 at 7:30PM ET. You can listen to it on I-tunes or see it on ABC News Now starting Thursday 1:05PM ET.

Katherine Jenkins - Serenade, a considered review

The album opens with (Quello Che Faro) Sara Per Te (Everything I Do) I Do It For You, an ill-conceived cover version of Bryan Adams' Robin Hood theme that spent a seemingly forever at number one in the UK charts half a lifetime ago. The highlight of this is definitely Adams' guitar playing. Orchestral arrangement syrupy and over lush. Diction poor. Not possible to tell a word of the Italian in which she is singing. Why bother? I can only assume that by taking a middle-of-the-road rock anthem and translating the words into Italian, she will convince Middle England she is an opera singer. I don't see what's wrong with letting rock music be rock. It can be bloody good.

We then move onto Nella Fantasia. The opening phrase is sung like a small child, then the rest is done in that false voice that children - and some adults - adopt, often for comedy effect,  to make themselves sound as though they can sing like a proper singer. It's basically the theme music from The Mission film.  The orchestra sounds pretty much like it did in the previous track. In fairness Barbie doesn't sound bad on this, except that high note which she takes a big leap up to, and still has to approach from under pitch. I wonder how many takes it took in the studio to get even to that approximation.

Then we have Chanson Boheme (Carmen). It is almost impossible to murder Carmen's music, and it sounds as though the orchestra are much more comfortable playing this, with a crisp introduction, then the Carmen bursts in. I think someone must have suggested she needs to alter her tone a bit more in this, because we get a random selection of tones, from sweet simpering girl, to angry matriarch, to posh Sloane, to something that might be an attempt to do Edith Piaf (French, you see...).  Certainly novel interpretations of the fiery promiscuous Carmen.I love the way that she can sound different even in the same phrase or even the same bar. Interesting it is, Callas it isn't. But the orchestral is magnificent, especially the percussion.

Green Green Grass of Home. Now, I love this song...as sung by Tom Jones, who, in my opinion, has one of the great voices, or certainly did at his peak. When he recorded this there was the full richness of his voice, and a sensitive edge of emotion. She sings most of this in her upper register and she is clearly struggling.  but I find it difficult to tell what she's singing, even though it's supposedly in English. I think there's one bit where she sings Oak Tree but it sounds more like 'uck tregh'. If you have arrived here after doing a Google for her version of this, you absolutely have to watch - or at least listen to - Tom Jones  singing this on You Tube. I have to say, he does look kind of naff with that enormous great big cross round his neck, but boy, can he sing. Jenkins' version isn't fit to be mentioned in the same blogpost.

Don Giovanni

Ages ago, I decided that I would blog my entire record collection before I'm forty. This includes operas, whether audio only or video presentations.

And I got into a bad situation that I couldn't motivate myself to capture the words to describe one of the greatest operas ever written, Don Giovanni, the 'D' of the ABCD of opera.

I have two versions on DVD or video; I saw the 'notorious' Calixto Bieito version at ENO some time ago and I have booked to see the Royal Opera House production twice next summer.

One of the versions was shown on TV a couple of years back - a Peter Brook production from Aix en Provence: the Mahler Chamber orchestra  conducted by  Daniel Harding. When I watched it, I made the following notes:

Not especially starry cast.

Don Ottavio sang a gorgeous Sulla Pace and Il mio tesoro; La ci darem was nice enough. DG is easy on the eye not so easy on the voice. Nice modern dress and minimalist sets. Not especially gripping dramatically.

I did like Donna Elvira

Pleasant and enjoyable to watch once. Not sure I would again.

DG Peter Mattei
Leporello Gilles Cachemaille
Masetto Nathan Berg
Don Ottavio Mark Padmore
Donna Anna Alexandra Deshorties
Zerlina Lisa Larsson
Donna Elvira Mireille Delunsch
Il commendatore Gudjon Oskarsson

At which point, I think: Ah! Don Ottavio, gorgeous voice, Don Ottavio Mark Padmore. Of late I have almost become a big fan of Mark Padmore, albeit with reservations, so it's good to know that there is some consistency in my feelings.

The other version I have is a Zurich Opera Production under the baton of Nikolaus Harnoncourt, and a strong cast led by Rod Gilfrey.

Cross-river tramway

Cross-river tram debate to begin

Consultation is expected to start this week and will continue until January 2007.

When I first saw the proposals for this maybe five years ago my immediate reaction was frustration that it was planned to stop at Brixton Town Centre. It seems that all these proposals for massive investment in London's public transport infrastructure and which will undoubtedly bring major benefits to South London, are by passing those areas of population density clustered round the A23 from Brixton down to West Croydon. But if you live where I live, the nearest tube stations involve and will involve walks of half an hour; the nearest railway station (Streatham Hill) is a branch of a branch line.

If you draw a line on a map from Crystal Palace to Balham to Brixton, you create a triangle within which the population equivalent of a small city will eternally be entirely without Underground or Light Rapid Transit. I am guessing that there are logistical problems - I don't think a tram could fit on Brixton Hill without destroying Rush Common, a move I would oppose, unless the road was closed to private motor vehicles, which I would support, but I suspect would be politically unpopular, even though a tram system would improve far more lives than banning cars would inconvenience.

I will contribute to this consultation and will copy my views to my MP.

A non story

Which is good!

City nightclub destroyed by fire

Ten people were treated for minor injuries but firefighters, who praised the nightclub staff for their actions, believe all inside the club escaped...A West Midlands Fire Service spokeswoman said the club had been evacuated by the time they were called.

Time and time again there have been dreadful stories of unnecessary carnage because greedy and careless owners of nightclubs etc have locked or blocked emergency exits. I don't suppose it can be the easiest job persuading 500 clubbers, many of them probably off their heads, to leave. It appears that this was a responsibly managed club and those responsible for ensuring that should be praised and rewarded appropriately, management and staff.

Carmen Miranda

The next name of my t-shirt is little more than a name to me. I think there might be some glamour, some exotic glamour about her. I recall that long ago in my youth people would say "Who does she think she is - Carmen Miranda?" as a less then complimentary critique of a rather inappropriately overdressed woman.

She's been dead fifty years; see I didn't even know that. For all I know she might just be slightly elderly living out a graceful retirement with cats, in the Hollywood Hills. But despite being dead fifty years, she has her own official website

But what did she do? According to Wikipedia she was a Portuguese-Brazilian samba singer and motion picture star most active in the 1940s. In 1945 she was the highest-paid woman in the United States, bar none, earning more than $200,000 that year, according to IRS records.

There is a mention of towering headdresses made of fruit, becoming famous as "the lady in the tutti-frutti hat. This comes as no surprise to me, so maybe I have a long-buried memory of seeing something about her in  fruit-decked millinery.

She did not drink or smoke until her late 30s. In addition to her addiction to alcohol and tobacco, she regularly used amphetamines and barbiturates, all of which weakened her heart (nothing like starting late to ensure an absolute addiction).

I don't think I've ever seen any films by her. And I can't honestly say that she has had any impact on my life. It's not much point being a legend if people don't know anything about you. By people, I mean me, the ultimate arbiter of what matters.

What I also find out via teh internets is

The most common stereotype of the Hispanic woman can be defined in to two categories: the virginal señorita and the loose Latin spitfire.  It is easy to recognize these stereotypes, because we have "internalized all of those Carmen Mirandas, Chiquita Bananas, and Charo 'cuchi cuchis' as the stereotypical images in the United States of Latina femininity and gender relations" (Arrizón, 2000) imposed by the Anglo-culture, as well as the patriarchal society.

You know, I hate that use of 'we'.

But I have to conclude that other than substance addiction and a tragically early death, and being rich,  Carmen Miranda doesn't appear to be that wild. So, she won't be on the new t-shirt...

Bit of a spat...

Mainstream media rubbishes blogs and ends up with eggy-face....

Follow the trail and larf...

Norman Lebrecht says bloggers don't check facts, particularly criticising Pliable's lack of FactChecking.

Pliable says.

Lebrecht calls Henry Fogel "a suit once hired by the Arts Council to abolish London orchestras."

Henry says

Gert says "Oops". You know, sometimes people like Pliable/Bob and Henry Fogel talk the talk because they know stuff having walked the walk. I suspect the concept of 'knowing stuff' is becoming increasingly alien to too many journalists. Either they google, or they opine, or they extemporise. Yet an average reader would more likely expect a supposedly professional newspaper to be more accurate than blogs by people who are amateur writers, albeit about their own professional sphere.

How embarrassing to write factually inaccurate statements about people who don't check their facts.

Fabulous, a new phobia

Millions 'hit by toilet phobia'

If I take the piss or poo-poo this story I'll probably offend someone.

And I probably shouldn't, anyway. I just wonder whether a headline like this is just a hysteric reaction to a normal and common problem, or whether it's an excuse to overlook a greater problem.

I'll ignore children and the various issues around potty training and teenage self-consciousness, because they're different. Or maybe not. Stories abound of appalling toilet facilities at schools, schools that refuse to supply loo paper, or girls schools with inadequate disposal facilities. If you want to screw someone up for life, start young.

Comedy sketches and blog entries rebound with stories of situational toilet shyness. I guess almost everyone has this occasionally. I know many people who get anxious, even subconsciously, at the thought that there might not be facilities when they most need them - in a long film, stuck in a traffic jam or on an Intercity train. I also know of people with specific medical conditions, including men with prostate trouble and women with pelvic floor muscles weakened by childbirth, who have legitimate concerns about being caught short. I have encountered people who believe themselves to have small bladders. I overheard a teenager saying her doctor had confirmed this; she seemed mature and wise in describing how she plans her life to get round this eg not drinking Coca Cola on a bus; her tone of voice was a mixture of resigned acceptance and an element of amused self-deprecation.

I don't think the precautions taken by any of these people amount to a phobia. It is an exasperation at the lack of facilities - often a poorly articulated exasperation, or one not followed by action. There is a genuine lack of public loos, largely because of the combination of vandalism, drug activity and cottaging and the associated expense. We discussed public loos in Labour Group. It was suggested we should introduce Superloos into the Borough. The discussion was frustratingly stalled by someone opining that they were awful because they open automatically after five minutes. Which I can understand as being potentially embarrassing, but probably less a design fault and more a control over said nefarious activities*.

Many public buildings have wholly inadequate toilet facilities. West End theatres are disgraceful and my experience in the commercial sector helps me understand why many women would choose to avoid these places. I know of pubs where the toilet facilities are so inadequate or disgusting it is unsurprising that people avoid them. Can you imagine a Ladies loo without dispensing or disposal facilities, or most importantly, a mirror!

It annoys me though that suddenly this anxiety is dressed up as a phobia. If it is a spur to persuading Local Government and Big Business to get their act together,fine. But it's more likely to be used as an excuse to brush away the rational and legitimate concerns of those that just want an acceptable standard of toilet provision. A couple of the reasons cited are OCD and Agoraphobia, which I know can be life-destroying conditions. But I don't think that 'toilet phobia' is an adequate way to describe this; any treatment should be of the entire condition, and specific symptoms should be addressed as part of an holistic approach.

* I don't regard private consensual cottaging between adults as nefarious, but I recall a situation where a teenage boy of my acquaintance refused to pee in the Gents at a railway station mid-morning because of the highly visible activity between two presumably consenting men. His companions were female so there was no scope for strength in numbers

The Brixton getting off the bus routine

is something that has fascinated me for at least eleven years.

Brixton is the Southern end of the Victoria Line, and south of Brixton, London Underground is sparse. The Northern Line, ironically, ventures further south; my nearest Underground station is Clapham South.But the bus service is crap and walk, no thank you.

Brixton is in the hustle and bustle of the Metropolis. Vibrant and diverse, deprived and prosperous, seedy and glamorous. All bus routes converge on Brixton, many terminate. In peak times buses traverse Brixton Hill on average every minute and generally arrive in Brixton Standing Room Only. At which point, even if the bus isn't terminating, most people get off. To go to work in Brixton, to change buses, or more likely to go to the Tube station. I was told that other than the Mainline termini and the Zone 1 interchanges (Oxford Circus, Piccadilly Circus, Green Park etc), Brixton is the busiest London Underground Station.

Thousands of people disgorge.

A recipe for chaos. It's London, where everyone is rude. It's Brixton, where cultures clash, where Respec' is demanded, not earned or given, it's often violent, Darwinian, intimidating.

And yet there is this amazing system. Typically, the stairs are one-third of the way back, so two queues form, one from the rear and one from the front. Right and left. And more often than not, a lot more often than not, we take turns. Rear. Front. Right. Left. Rear. Left. A parent and child classes as one. Rear. Front. Right. Left. Sometimes it gets broken, someone jumps their turn and is glared at. Sometimes someone is too polite, lets through too many from the other side.

This is an organic system coming up from the street (well, technically, going down to the road, but a paradoxical metaphor can work, can't it?). There are no signs to suggest it - unlike the self-regulating escalator rule of 'stand on the right' - and I have never seen a reference to it in writing. Who invented it? How does it pass from one generation to the next? Eleven years I've been doing it. some of my fellow commuters were still at Primary School then, many of the schoolies were still in nappies. And yet it perpetuates, because it makes sense, because people feel comfortable with it, people sense that it is fair.

Sometimes it is too easy to find the bad in people, individuals or collectively. And yet a collective of people male and female, all ages, many ethnicities and nationalities, all classes, trades and professions, thousands upon thousands of them, year in year out, understand, obey and enforce the Brixton getting off the bus routine. I think it is quite a profound experience.

Course, having wrote this, next time I'm getting off the bus, I'll be barged and pushed by an unholy alliance of a posh black Jamaican pensioner, a male Polish chav with a disability, a gay Portuguese teenage boy, and a English male manual worker with a buggy.

Kerron's firework incidents

Can We Ban Fireworks Please

He had a near miss; his cat wasn't so lucky.

Yet more evidence, if any is needed, that there is no longer any justification for fireworks to be available on open sale.

Autumn

I can't really work out the weather at the moment. We had a stonkingly warm October, and I still haven't worn my winter coat yet. It's a bit of a toss up. Do I overstew on public transport or do I get ever so slightly chilly whilst standing for maybe five minutes at a bus stop?

But that's not unprecedented. Three years ago I was chasing Bush around London wearing my fleece - admittedly my winter coat had gone up in flames, but I didn't feel a pressing need to get a new one; it was actually three years ago next week.

I glanced out of the kitchen window this morning and spotted two roses in the garden. Again, not unusual. In January 1987, one of the coldest and snowiest Januarys in my life, I took a photo of the rose bed outside my hall of residence, petals on the bushes, surrounded by snow. But the roses I saw this morning were buds, poised any day to leap into the full bloom of summer.

I went to Croydon this morning. I tend to think that between here and Croydon lies nothing but urban and suburban scrawl. But there is a peculiarity with the complex web of railway lines that criss-cross South London - amongst them lies scrub land, too neglected even for playing fields and allotments, let alone agriculture or housing. Just greenspace, left to go wild and back to nature.

Between Crystal Palace and Norwood Junction I glanced out of the carriage, across the frost covered fields and saw in the distance, a train snaking away to who knows where*, crossing the border, bringing the cheque and the postal order, letters for the rich, letters for the poor, the shop at the corner and the girl next door. I t was like I was in the country, on a journey of discovery into terrain unknown, anxiety mixed with expectancy. I expect it was just packed with commuters.

But then Norwood Junction turned into the ugly Metropolis that the Manhattan of South London. My meeting was in the staff restaurant on the 19th Floor, but sadly, the mist and mellow fruitfulness hampered my panoramic view of much of North Surrey. Jimmy says that the fog is caused by the smoke of all those bonfires and fireworks that has escaped to the upper atmosphere. I expect it's a butterfly flapping its wings in China

* Victoria or London Bridge, I daresay

I sometimes feel...

...that my past is catching up on me.

First I read that Daniel Ortega has been elected President of Nicaragua, then I discover that Jason Donovan will be on I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here*.

And I'm ambivalent about both facts.

In the 1980s I identified in solidarity with the Sandanistas in Nicaragua. My support ranged from attending the marvellous Puerto Cabezas Festival in Manchester - twin cities, natch - to buying and displaying t-shirts and mugs with variations on the theme of "Nicaragua No Paseran!". I kind of regret that I was never adventurous enough to actually go to Nicaragua.

But I read How I woke up and smelt the coffee, which left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Reportedly, Bush was going to impose sanctions on Nicaragua if Ortega was elected, which seems all too reminiscent of the 1980s: we were in solidarity with Nicaragua not because we necessarily thought it was a socialist nirvana, but because we were angry at the overt and covert action by a corrupt US Government determined to destroy a democracy that was of the 'wrong' hue. Just like they are determined to destroy the popularly elected and socialist Hugo Chavez in Venezuela. Maybe one day Bush will learn the awkward truth that people are perfectly entitled to vote other than the way he and his bullying cronies want them to...

...Democrats seize control of House, Virginia key to US Senate control...

And I'm not sure that I can bring myself to watch the awfulness that is reality TV. I did try to watch Lee Sharpe on Celebrity Love Island, but I never made it past the first commercial break. I can understand why the celebs do it - easy money and an upturn in name-recognition. But it doesn't mean I am obliged ot watch it, or to acknowledge its existence, or care about what happens, or accord it any importance, even in the relative squalor of low-rent telly. But as a former member of the Jason Donovan Fan Club, as well as the Lee Sharpe Fan Club, it seems a betrayal.

I've heard Donald Rumsfeld has some time on his hands. Maybe he fancies a spot on a celebrity reality TV show. Probably be better if he turned prison visitor, though, go and cheer up his old mate Saddam.

* impressed or what - what other blogger do you know who could write an almost cogent blogpost linking Daniel Ortega and Jason Donovan?

Janis Joplin

I know very little about her despite having worn her name at the top of my t-shirt since I was a right-on idealistic mid-twenties type.

She was on a TV programme a few months back, about Divas. There was her, and Maria Callas, Edith Piaf,  Billie Holliday and Judy Garland, all of whom appeal to the inner me*. And I thought, I can appreciate all those other divas, even though they don't figure highly in my listening, so I shall try and like Janis Joplin.

And I can't. I suppose if I lived with someone who really liked her, I could train myself. But, no...

Wikipedia has the skinny on her life. It says "While at Thomas Jefferson High School, she was mostly shunned." That sounds gruesome and brutal.

She was a heavy drug user, mainly speed and occasionally heroin, with large doses of Southern Comfort. She died aged 27 from a heroin overdose.

Wikipedia says

Joplin is now remembered best for her powerful, sexy and distinctive voice — her rasping, overtone-rich sound was significantly divergent from the soft folk and jazz-influenced styles that were common among many white artists at the time — as well as for her lyrical themes of pain and loss

so I decided to click over to YouTube and I found Piece of my heart. It really doesn't do anything for me. Her voice is tuneless, with some screaming. And I don't like that use of screaming guitar. In fact, the performance is demented. Which is fine if you like demented. I don't. I have a recording of this by Dusty Springfield, which I much prefer. Now, Dusty, I do like, what a Diva.

Then I click onto Ball and Chain. The commenters are going crazy for her, which is fair enough: one doesn't leave comments saying "yeah, that's mediocre" or "not bad but I wouldn't watch it again." My comments on YouTube are either unadulterated praise, orgiastic derision, or seeking or providing further info.

I suppose back then there were not very many female figures in Mainstream Rock, and therefore she has to be admired for being in that seemingly male-dominated field. But I've already mentioned Maria, Edith, Judy, Billie, Dusty, all of whom had carved decentish careers as singers in various genres.  I could add in Diana and Cilla,  and Dana** didn't come much afterwards. Only one of those others is mentioned on the t-shirt. and it isn't Dana.

So when I order the replacement t-shirt, it won't have Janis Joplin's name on it...

* which seems at times to suspiciously similar to a gay man
** Dana Provincial, of course***
*** old blogging joke. You had to be there...

T-shirt blogging

I have a t-shirt. It is years old. IIRC I bought it a Mayday Festival - or possibly a Greater London Labour Party Women's Conference - and I think I bought it from a stall run by Tower Hamlets Labour Party as part of a fundraiser for the cross-community effort to defeat the BNP. I can picture the woman who sold it to me, but I can't recall her name.

Despite being a dozen years old, and a much loved t-shirt, it's still in reasonably good nick, at least to be worn around the house or over a bikini when leaving a beach.

Women use it to engage in conversation, and I don't mind too much if men use it as an excuse to stare at my tits.

Wild Women.

It has a list of names on it, and although I know a lot about some, a little about others, there are others again, that are barely more than names. I've been meaning all these years to find out more about them, and this seems as good a way as any to do so. To have a series featuring those forty names...well, 41, because it ends the list 'and Me'. Not a regular series, not a get it all done in a month, not do it religiously every Monday night series, but maybe to attempt to blog all forty, plus a few others, by the time I'm forty (oh heck that's fifteen months today. Oh dear!)

So I inaugurate an irregular series of 'Wild Women'...

Blog back on the road and rockin and a-rolling and stuff

I think we is sorted.

My hostess had uncorrupted my database. My comments are restored, my templates are rebuilt, and I have closed all entries over a month old to deter those bastard spammers a bit. But I don't want to frighten real people. I know people are often shy at leaving comments, and that's understandable, especially when I have to put in so many obstacles to preventing spam. A lot of the spam goes straight to junk, but some sits there waiting to be moderated, and some of it really is stomach churningly foul. I am pretty broad-minded about consenting adult erotica and porn, but some of this spam...if I let it onto my site, I think I could be locked-up. And rightly so, because if I don't take responsibility to prevent this sort of stuff getting onto my site, then I am responsible for it being there.

They do it by bombarding the site with hundreds of comments, an automated process. This puts a lot of pressure on the server, and eventually it falls over. And, as I have discovered, such crashes can corrupt the data. It isn't fair. I feel like a victim, my co-hosted blogs should feel like victims, and you my reader should feel victimised, too. All we want is a bit of pleasure and information, and those vile creeps are trying to take advantage of us, so that they can rip money off sick bastards who want to exploit the real victims.

So, Comment is Free on mmofm, and we don't allow facts to spoil a good story