Last night, after being enchanted by watching "Madagascar" BBC2 - I love watching those lemurs flying through the air or bouncing across the land with their long tails held high or just stretched out on their backs, enjoying a bit of sun - we settled down to some music & conversation.
We went more folky with John Denver, followed by Georges Brassens. I always feel that Brassens is a sort of French Jake Thackery. They have the same lugubrious air. I always find myself smiling. I wish my French was good enough to catch the meaning of the words but, from the sound of them, they are very colloquial and very jokey.
I've just had a quick look at Jake Thackery on Wikipedia. He's a singer I associate with having short slots on TV in the 60s. I gather from the Wikipedia entry he was influenced by Brassens so maybe I've got them the wrong way round. Maybe I should have said the Thackery is an English Brassens. To me, though, it's the other way. Possibly that's a reflection of the fact that Thackery entered my consciousness before Brassens.
Still the really important fact is that we had an enjoyable evening, chuntering away to each other, with a glass of wine and some fun music in the background
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Thursday, 24 February 2011
Monday, 8 February 2010
John Dankworth
I was sorry to hear of the death of John Dankworth. This morning on "Today" on BBC Radio 4, they commented how strange, & brave, Cleo had been in the way his death was announced. She'd gone on & done her performance. It was only when the last piece, intended to star John himself, was due that she came on to announce his death. Then afterwards people were able to stop & chat about John.
I couldn't help thinking in some ways this was a beautiful way to do it. John was a performer. The audience at the Stables was almost an extended family. And at the end of the day isn't being about to talk about the deceased what wakes are about? It's the opportunity to share treasured memories, frustrations etc, always spoken of with love. These memories affirm the value of the dead, are consoling to the bereaved & grief-stricken. It most have been bolstering to Cleo & their children to have been surrounded by that love at such a time, even though the rest of the show would have been a challenge to undertake. But even that was a celebration of the life of John & his love of jazz.
I couldn't help thinking in some ways this was a beautiful way to do it. John was a performer. The audience at the Stables was almost an extended family. And at the end of the day isn't being about to talk about the deceased what wakes are about? It's the opportunity to share treasured memories, frustrations etc, always spoken of with love. These memories affirm the value of the dead, are consoling to the bereaved & grief-stricken. It most have been bolstering to Cleo & their children to have been surrounded by that love at such a time, even though the rest of the show would have been a challenge to undertake. But even that was a celebration of the life of John & his love of jazz.
Saturday, 6 February 2010
Yes I have no bananas today
The world is in soft focus today. Mist shrouds the place. Trees & houses appear & disappear as the mist swirls around. All a bit other worldly.
I've been getting on with the ironing. As usual I had BBC Radio 4 on. At the end of "Saturday Live" there is a little feature on inheritance tracks, in which people, usually celebrities but not always, choose a piece of music they feel they've inherited from their childhood but which they still have a nostalgic affection for, & a track they nominate for future generations to value similarly.
I've sometimes played this game to myself. I know what would be my inherited track. Without doubt it would be "Yes, we have no bananas today".
Why? In my childhood home, music was virtually banned, despite the fact my mother's family were semi-professional musicians & my mother's mother lived with us when I was young. Yet I did have an urge for music. We did have a violin, my Gran's, in the house & a stand-up piano. Neither were ever played. We also had loads of sheet music, presumably that had arrived with my Gran.
The violin never attracted me. Maybe because even to my childish ear any endeavour on that untuned instrument was torture. But with the piano I did surreptitiously lift the lid & have a go at trying to teach myself. One of the books of music was a manual to teach piano & from this I learnt something of fingering. But the first piece of music I managed to play that sounded like a proper tune, worthy to sing to, was "Yes, I have no bananas today." My pride was unbounded.
I suppose my other reason is that all the adults in my childhood home had survived the deprivations of two world wars. My mother often spoke of the shortage of such luxuries as bananas in those days. To her dying days she kept a vast store cupboard full of tea, sugar, tinned fruit, ready for the next great war. Thankfully that time never came, but her fear of the possibility was tangible.
My track to leave is uncertain. I go between three I think. One would be Simon & Garfunkel's "Bridge over Trouble Waters", a song I've always loved. I always liked the image of a love so great that a person would lie down to act as a bridge over troubled waters to ease the way for you. That person I found in the Fox.
The second would be the gravelly voice of Louis Armstrong singing "What a Wonderful World." It expresses so much of the wonder I feel about the world around me & I would wish everyone could share.
The third would be Ella singing Cole Porter's "Every Time we Say Goodbye". Once, when I was in hospital awaiting ops on my knees, the hospital radio team came round for requests. The Fox, who was visiting, & I chose something by Cole Porter preferably with Ella singing. This was the piece they played. As Ella moved from major to minor, the sung pulled on our heartstrings. Although we both hoped for the best from the ops, we couldn't be sure. When we parted that evening, not knowing if I'd even survive, we both died a little & wept a little. Now whenever I hear that song, particularly the sheer pathos in Ella's voice as she changes chords, I'm back in that ward, fearing I'd never see the Fox again & dying a little.
No I think it would be the second song. Future generations need to be reminded of the sheer wonder of the world. That would be a valuable gift indeed to leave to future generations.
I've been getting on with the ironing. As usual I had BBC Radio 4 on. At the end of "Saturday Live" there is a little feature on inheritance tracks, in which people, usually celebrities but not always, choose a piece of music they feel they've inherited from their childhood but which they still have a nostalgic affection for, & a track they nominate for future generations to value similarly.
I've sometimes played this game to myself. I know what would be my inherited track. Without doubt it would be "Yes, we have no bananas today".
Why? In my childhood home, music was virtually banned, despite the fact my mother's family were semi-professional musicians & my mother's mother lived with us when I was young. Yet I did have an urge for music. We did have a violin, my Gran's, in the house & a stand-up piano. Neither were ever played. We also had loads of sheet music, presumably that had arrived with my Gran.
The violin never attracted me. Maybe because even to my childish ear any endeavour on that untuned instrument was torture. But with the piano I did surreptitiously lift the lid & have a go at trying to teach myself. One of the books of music was a manual to teach piano & from this I learnt something of fingering. But the first piece of music I managed to play that sounded like a proper tune, worthy to sing to, was "Yes, I have no bananas today." My pride was unbounded.
I suppose my other reason is that all the adults in my childhood home had survived the deprivations of two world wars. My mother often spoke of the shortage of such luxuries as bananas in those days. To her dying days she kept a vast store cupboard full of tea, sugar, tinned fruit, ready for the next great war. Thankfully that time never came, but her fear of the possibility was tangible.
My track to leave is uncertain. I go between three I think. One would be Simon & Garfunkel's "Bridge over Trouble Waters", a song I've always loved. I always liked the image of a love so great that a person would lie down to act as a bridge over troubled waters to ease the way for you. That person I found in the Fox.
The second would be the gravelly voice of Louis Armstrong singing "What a Wonderful World." It expresses so much of the wonder I feel about the world around me & I would wish everyone could share.
The third would be Ella singing Cole Porter's "Every Time we Say Goodbye". Once, when I was in hospital awaiting ops on my knees, the hospital radio team came round for requests. The Fox, who was visiting, & I chose something by Cole Porter preferably with Ella singing. This was the piece they played. As Ella moved from major to minor, the sung pulled on our heartstrings. Although we both hoped for the best from the ops, we couldn't be sure. When we parted that evening, not knowing if I'd even survive, we both died a little & wept a little. Now whenever I hear that song, particularly the sheer pathos in Ella's voice as she changes chords, I'm back in that ward, fearing I'd never see the Fox again & dying a little.
No I think it would be the second song. Future generations need to be reminded of the sheer wonder of the world. That would be a valuable gift indeed to leave to future generations.
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