"The Prom Plan." -- a friend.

Music One lunchtime a couple of weeks ago, I was chatting to a friend I hadn’t seen for a good long while and we were catching up on all of the things that she’d been doing and I’d been talking about the few things I’d been keeping myself occupied with. I’d told her about listening to all of the Proms, trying desperately not to make it sound like the kind of eccentricity I always seem to mixed up in, though not entirely successfully especially after admitting to listening to the Blue Peter Prom twice, even though it was only broadcast once, because it had actually been run twice in the hall and I wanted to be comprehensive.

Before we left each other (she had to return to work) I told her I admired the fact that she was getting her life in order, that she was trying to eat healthily, that she had some idea where her career might be going and that she was learning to drive, whereas I was the kind of person who instead decides to listen to every Prom because I want to finally become interested in classical music. "You’re taking The Prom Plan", she said, demonstrating once again that she’s far cleverer than I am but also perfectly encapsulating what I’ve been doing since July 13th.

Predictably enough, I don’t know that if I’d actually planned to do this, I would have actually, well, managed it. I’d simply decided to listen to the first night, because I was always there for the second half of the last and thought I’d at least make an effort this year. Then, somewhere in the midst of The Ode to Joy section of Beethoven’s 9th symphony, I was, shall we said, dead impressed. As I said here: “I understood for the first time what can be accomplished by professional musicians and singers putting their heart and soul into interpreting the work of a composer at the top of his personal and professional pinnacle.”

I discovered that Prom 2 would be a celebration of film music so it seemed right that I should listen to that, I recorded Prom 3 on the Sunday because I wanted to see what the Hall would look like with the orchestra and dance troups, then watched Prom 4 because The Swingle Singers were involved, then Prom 5 for the Bernstein, then Prom 6 later on that night to hear the Striggio mass which hadn’t been performed in four hundred years and somewhere in the middle as I realised it was one of the most profoundly beautiful pieces of music I’d ever head I decided that having failed to miss six of them, I would indeed be listening to all of the Albert Hall Proms.

At least it gave me something to write about on my blog. During that first couple of weeks I received some feedback on my initial posts, even from one of the BBC Singers themselves. I don’t see much point in repeating my excitement from over the past couple of weeks again here, but if you look back at what I’ve written you can see the progression from interest, through chucklesome, to fandom, to the evangelical and then finally exhausted but happy ramblings. I’ve agonized sometimes that when I haven’t posted about the Proms you’ve thought I’d given up as thought that really mattered. Other times I’ve wondered if I’ve been posting too much, especially when six subscribers on Bloglines up and left in a matter of days. But the whole point of a blog, at least this blog, has been to talk about what I’m doing and that’s what I’ve done.

I’ve always had an innate fear of classical music. I’ve listened to some of it, can whistle whole movements but I’ve never been able to express a love for it until now. When I was running low on hard disk space a couple of years ago, the first to go were my ripped copies of classical music with the exception of Mozart and Chopin and Beethoven. I’d always skip classical when it popped up at random on my mp3 player. It was the sound of course but also the immensity. Classical music scared me because it just seemed like too much of a leap, too much to have to try and understand from the minuet to the nocturne. But paradoxically I’ve cared a great deal about this, even though I don’t have a problem with not having seen something from every genre of cinema or having only been exposed to literature when it's by Shakespeare or Andrew Davies has written an adaptation of it.

Listening to these Proms has helped to conquer that fear because I realised that it’s possible to enjoy classical music without having to actually understand everything that you're hearing. I've discovered that this music would often be premiered and performed to appreciative audiences who liked what they heard but could not put that admiration into words. They’d read the programme, get the gist and then go with it, letting the music wash over them, drowning in the sound. Like many films, although they were written within various ‘formats’ and traditions, the composer’s expectations were generally that only a rival, colleague or scholar would be able detect the fundamentals. Like film, where there will be some in the audience who are aware of narrative structures, cinematographic techniques and editing choices, most simply want to be entertained. In this case, I’ve simply been happy to be entertained and I’ve conquered my fear by realising that this ok. I might pick up some of the technical aspects of the music, learn something about the composers and their historical contexts it didn’t matter if I couldn’t apply the same kind of interpretative understanding I might give to a film to a concerto.

But it’s important to note that paradoxically I might not have been able to do that where it not for the Proms. By forcing myself to sit down concert in and out and listening to whatever was being presented to me (and the other listeners) I was absorbing a far greater variety of music than if I’d simply gone to the local library and selected some things from the racks or bought a Rough Guide to… When the Proms began, the laudable aim was to give audiences the opportunity to listen to the kinds of music they might not otherwise have been exposed to and this intention has been continued even in the hundred and thirteenth year by outgoing director Nicholas Kenyon. It’s absolutely been like being back at school, and like the books studied during an A-Level English Literature course, the curriculum changes every year. Yet, most types of music are represented and also by including a range of work by a particular composer, in this case Mahler and Elgar the listener is able to compare their writing across their career.

I’m not sure my Proms experience would have been the same without the presenting team who have covered the concerts in the past couple of months both on Radio 3 and BBC television and if this has been a return to school, they’ve been my teachers. For this classical music novice they’ve been a vital resource, explaining the composer’s intent when it is vital, introducing the visiting orchestras and conductors and their importance within their particular field and particularly on the radio capturing some of the atmosphere within the hall -- Donald Mcloud was always good at this. Crucially, each seems to be allowed their own voice, allowed to display their own journalistic flair -- some are obviously more interested in the technical aspects of classical music whilst for others it’s the stories, the circumstances which led to the composition of a piece which are of most interest.

Like a teaching body, you’re bound to have your favourites. Petroc Trelawny and Sara-Mohr-Pietsch where good all rounders. Christopher Cook the most genial and amusing, particularly during the Chamber music concerts at the Cadogan Hall, comfortably presenting and interviewing the performers from the actual stage and wringing as much humour as possible from anecdotes. Suzy Klein who appeared the most relaxed of the television presenters and really knew what to wear for the occasion. Geoffrey Smith, Jazz expert whose voice sounds almost but not exactly like the actor Jeff Bridges. Tom Service who is best described as the Mark Kermode of the team, happily critical when necessary, especially when called to be an expert witness during the BBC Four broadcasts, and yes, Angellica Bell who always seemed slightly surprised to have this gig and would always increase the entertainment value of any televised interval because you’d never quite sure if she’d bring a low flying interview in to land safely.

Finally, Verity Sharp who helped introduce me to world music through Late Junction and now classical music through her busy schedule here. She in particular has been an ongoing source of curiosity throughout the Proms. Most of the presenters in linking together information about the works has a way of linking the factoids together. Some simply pause and let the atmospheric sound counterpoint whatever they’re saying. Others quite happily ‘erm…’ and still others just run the sentences on and hope that we’ll keep up with them. Verity says ‘and’, but she stretches it out -- for example (I’m paraphrasing from the Proms programme) ‘Nitin Sawhney is extraordinarily perceptive in his ability to unite elements from seeming disparate musics … aaaand … this is reflected in his talents as a collaborator with artists such as Sting. …’ Once she said ‘and, erm’ and, erm, it sounded all wrong. It’s been fascinating and warrants further study, admittedly for all the wrong reasons.

But of course they were simply gate keepers for the music. It seems like a self defeating process to try and list a top ten moments which is why I’m going to do it anyway. What has astonished me is the number of occasions that I’ve thought something was noteworthy enough to mention on the blog and then has been given a positive, if slightly more analytical review in The Guardian, but that could have just been me believing the hype and they did get it terribly wrong in their look at the last night at least to these ears. Anyway, with a special mention for the mad as cheese appearance of Joanna Lumley with Shaun Rafferty on the Radio 3 broadcast of that last night (which I’m listening to as I write), here then in chronological order is the top ten.

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Beethoven: No.9 in D minor ‘Choral’, (Prom 1) & ( Prom 62)

Making a double appearance this year to make up the number because the traditional performance last year was literally rained off when the sprinkler system kicked in at The Albert Hall (which seems so wonderfully geeky) it did offer the opportunity for me to hear how a piece is interpreted by two different orchestras. The first given by the BBC Symphony Orchestra, BBC Symphony Chorus and Philharmonia Chorus was about wattage -- absolutely pounding the notes, making the piece fill the hall. To my unrtrained ears, the second with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra & Chorus under Mariss Jansons had a slightly slower tempo and seemed to be about absolutely making every note lucid. Of the two I think I preferred the BBC -- and I’m quite happy to say that its because if it wasn’t for this, as I’ve said, I wouldn’t be writing this overlong post now.

Rameau: various, (Prom 3)

This was a totally unique mix of dance and music, of European and African musicians, the sounds passing up and down the stage. Surprisingly I thought the more structured dances the most effective -- the coat rack thing and the ballet dance and the finale which brought together all of the dancers and all of the players together. Pity BBC Four decided to cut away just as the encores hotted up. It seems terribly wrong that I should pick two moments from the opening weekend, but I didn’t actually finish watching this until a month later during the one week in the middle when I was flagging so it seems fair to include it here. I don’t think I would have been able to listen to everything if it hadn’t been for the great time shift, either recording from television or listening again. Was it cheating -- possibly -- but I’d say it stopped me from becoming resentful of the routine.

Striggio: Mass ‘Ecco si beato giorno’, (Prom 6)

One of my great Proms discoveries has been that a ‘Mass’ isn’t simply a liturgy but also a standard form of classical music composition in much the same way as a concerto or a symphony which can by performed and listened to in a secular setting -- but as far as I can see with a no less spiritual effect. Bach’s Mass in G Major (Prom 34) was deeply affecting; as I lay in bed that night, in the dark I was certainly reminded that in so many ways music, as with other art forms, is like time travel -- it transports the listener to another time with a whole different set of concerns and cultural interests and also has the effect of helping you understand the civilisation that it’s from. But I had to put the Striggio at the top of this paragraph because of the story of its discovery and because I actually found myself standing on my bed in front of my stereo as though the choir were in the room with me and it’s a ten year old Grundig from a Currys shop that isn‘t even still open. This was complex -- it gave various singers their own individual voice parts whilst also contributing to the overall sound. The researcher who found it, Davitt Moroney calls it ‘the most extravagant piece of polyphony in the whole history of Western music’, and he’s right.

Copland: Symphony No. 3, Prom 16

In his closing interviews, Nicholas Kenyon has emphasized how the tastes of the audiences have changed over the decades and how, even fifteen years ago the likes of Copland and Gershwin weren’t even on the repertory. I’d argue that television and film have something to do with that, post-modern snatches of all kinds music being used commercially and artistically so that they become somewhat familiar to the audience -- throughout the Proms I discovered exactly where some over familiar music has been snatched from. This Copland work is the opposite of that -- Fanfare for the Common Man came first and then the composer referenced it in the longer work, elaborating on it across the movements almost demonstrating its construction and then destruction (is it a metaphor for the American dream?). It’s a gripping, compelling exciting work and as played here by the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra under Martin Alsop was enough to keep me listening after the personal disappointment of Verdi’s Macbeth (Prom 24) the night before.

Traditional Uzbek Music, (Prom 20)

Somewhere in the middle of the Proms I bought a pair of headphones -- it might have rained during the summer but it was also humid and the open window in the flat was bringing in background noise. The Uzbek trumpeters were the first time I really heard the stereo through speakers now dangling over my head as I could hear the musicians walking about the stage, or in my case shifting from ear to ear. On the whole though I was disappointed by Brass Day, the specially composed Bingham and the near fanfare lacking the power that’s my taste and the Wiergold He is armoured without seeming too loose and fragmented -- but that will have been an entirely different experience in the hall I’m sure. It interesting to me though that World Music lives in this odd ghetto when it comes to performance when the whole of the Proms is a celebration of music predominantly composed by people of the past from much the same countries. Kind of reminds you that World Music as a description was a marketing exercise from the 1980s to get people to vary their musical tastes.

Shostakovich: Symphony No. 7 in C major, ‘Leningrad’ (Prom 29)

The folly of trying to select a top ten shows itself because I could easily have included the Simon Bolivar Orchestra (Prom 48) which was equally amazing and absolutely blew everyone socks off -- it’s the concert people were still talking about during last night and randomly got a two minute reprise during the interval of the final BBC Four broadcast -- it’s even getting a BBC One repeat some time this week -- so to include it in this list would seem a but superfluous. Son instead, here’s the National Youth Orchestra of Great Britain under Mark Elder. Before the Proms, my impression of a Youth Orchestra came from school, which was fine I think, but this concert demonstrated that a performance can be just as, if not more professional than, well, the professionals. It’s amazed me throughout the season the dexterity and longevity required both mental and physical to simply work through to the end of one of these works. Leningrad is nearly eighty minutes long and it’s a big, serious, emotive work and yet this orchestra never faltered and by the end looked physically drained; some of the players were in tears as was the audience and there seemed to be the feeling of having witnessed a life changing event, of a group kids becoming adults over an hour and a half.

John Dankworth: From Bard to Blues, (Prom 35)

Turst me to listen to all of the Proms in which Shakespeare is a running theme, composers attempting to encapsulate the drama of a play in an overture. But I always felt that more often than not, these said more about the composer than the bard himself and only when his words, either from a song or soliloquy were used that Shakespeare’s work was actually being venerated, particularly during the chamber concerts at Cadogan Hall. The Dankworth / Cleo Laine concert was the most exciting juxtaposition, bringing four hundred year old poetry into a musical form which didn’t even exist at the time of its composition. But of course, how amazing that something that intimate should work so well in the Albert Hall; on the radio in fact, just as the Masses suggested that the music was being produced in some ancient cathedral, their genial company made it sound as though they were address fifty people in some tiny club in the back street of west end -- or it would if it hadn’t been for the presence of the BBC Concert Orchestra who certainly wouldn’t have fitted onto one of those little stages.

Mahler: Symphony No. 3 in D minor, (Prom 51)

When a Prom wasn’t being televised -- and sometimes even when it was -- I would sit on our balcony listening to the BBC Radio 3 broadcast watching the sun disappear behind Liverpool Cathedral and the city transform with the darkness. It’s the first year when I’ve actually watch the nights draw in as dusk comes earlier each night and towards the end of August it would sometimes seem to occur in time with the music and this was no less fittingly apparent during Mahler’s tribute to nature; the rise of man happening through my headphones during the rotation of the planet. Like the next choice on this list, when there was nothing to do, but turn all of the lights off, open the balcony door and lean against the railing letting the breeze blow across my face, music overwhelming my ears. That’s when I fell in love with Mahler’s music and there have been many similar moments throughout the season, during symphonies by Bruckner (Prom 53), Sibelius (Prom 42), Brahms (Prom 38), Schubert (Prom 66) and Elgar’s The Apostles (Prom 46).

Ligeti: Atmospheres, (Prom 68)

Before the Proms, my appreciation of modern music amounted to hearing that the message on Stokhousen’s answering machine amounted to him simply saying ‘Now!’ and the work of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop. It was random musical noise, the disregarding of melody in favour of sound and making instruments straining to create noises for which they were never intended. To be honest, that view hasn’t changed all that much and the couple of late night Proms which featured the likes of Birtwhistle’s Panic were probably the lowest points. But Berio’s Sinfonia (Prom 4) was deeply amusing and seemed to be taking the piss out of what people expect modern music to be like, and the Ligeti was exactly how I like it, totally transportative, totally alien and like a punch on the nose.

Bellini, La Sonnambula -- scene from Act 2, (Prom 72)

To slightly modify the words of a wise man and in a reference only about three readers will get, ‘Opera, hey. Opera. Opera. Opera. Opera.’ It shouldn’t be a total surprise that the Prom season hasn’t been my opportunity to appreciate Opera but as I’ve already mentioned somewhat, Wagner’s Gotterdammerung (Prom 39) was about the only job of work of the whole seventy-two, even less comprehensible to me that Knussen (Prom 61). But then, I absolutely adored the small doses, the aria here, the prelude there and then I heard Anna Netrebko’s rendition of the above during the last night and decided that there might be hope for me yet. Absolutely adorable. I can’t pass by whilst I’m in solo soprano territory without mentioning Renee Fleming’s appearance (Prom 32) and her scintillating rendition of Korngold’s Das Wunder der Heliane -- ‘Ich ging zu ihm’ which in a few minutes explained to me where diva cults develop from.

* * * * *

See what I mean? Hopeless. I haven't begun to scratch the surface of the myriad chamber concerts and matinees, some of which were equally enthralling -- I could also have waxed lyrical about the live appearance of Britten's Night Mail with Samuel West filling in for Mr. Burton (PSM 4) or the unexpected joy of Songs of a Rhineland Harper (PCM 7) which was about as unusual as the Proms came, secular German music from a thousand years ago talking about relationships and bravery and all of the things we're still concerned with today. Anyway, there's little left to do but to thank you for indulging my new passion for the past six weeks and I hope I haven't bored you too much. In case you're wondering, after tea tonight with no new Prom, I did watch a film -- as you'd expect I've developed a bit of a backlog. First off the pile? A new dvd of Citizen Kane. Thought I might as well start big ...

"But there has been much unavoidable controversy along the way." -- Dave Paxton, musicOMH.com

Music Just in case you're wondering where I've disappeared off to, I'm just completing the massive and rambling Proms review I've been promising. In the meantime, here's a biting review of the last night on television:

"Earlier in the day, the England football team played Israel, and presenting the BBC broadcast were knowledgeable and informed sports commentators. In contrast, the Prom was presented on television by a gardener. Alan Titchmarsh is actually a very engaging host, but I wonder how people would react if he presented the World Cup."

Too true. There does seem to be something terribly wrong about all the various authoritative presenters who have worked so well across BBC Four and Radio 3 being usurped by a 'name' at the finishing post. Would general viewers really balk if the second half was introduced by Petroc Trelawny, Verity Sharp or Suzie Klein? Does it matter?

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot?” -- Robbie Burns

Music And relax. After seventy-two Albert Hall concerts and a handful of chamber concerts I’ve finally reached the climax, the last night, of the Proms, Prom 72. Yes, I did sob through Jerusalem and sang both verses of the national anthem at the top of my voice. I clapped along with Pomp and Circumstance and busked through the regional opt-outs during Fantasia on British Sea-Songs (bless the school kids who sang Danny Boy for being so normal), BBC Symphony Chorus and BBC Symphony Orchestra as electric as ever. It’s the only part of the Proms I’ve seen and heard in company, the usual conversation about where all the flags were from and unusually why some of the audience booed whilst conductor Jiri Belohlavek received his flowers. Odd kind of joke that, especially when he was so good during the speech. Although I missed the statistics.

Trust the last night to bring the final surprise of the season, as I quietly lost my heart to Anna Netrebko even before she sang as she bounded onto stage waving at the crowd which is exactly the kind of thing I’d like to think I would have done given the occasion. Many times in the past few weeks have soloists have been respectful and serious as they strolled in front of the audience and this was gleeful and unlike some of those soloists she gave a performance of acting as well as singing, walking away from the microphone, addressing audience members and the choir directly, not just producing an excerpt from the music of an opera, but a whole opera performance, her Bellini absolutely heartbreaking, the Lehar spellbinding. The flower dance (for want to a better description) was one of the most exciting moments of the televised Proms all year and I’ve immediately gone to LoveFilm and ordered all of her dvds. I’m desperate to at least appreciate opera and this might be just the way to do it.

Even I’ve heard of Joshua Bell -- if only because he was the violinist mimed to throughout one of my favourite films, The Red Violin. His rendition of Ravel’s Izigane here reminded me of the scene there in which the fiddle is passed through generations of gypsies, a montage sequences showing close ups of each of its owners playing with Bell’s unbroken solo underneath. His current instrument was manufactured in the early 1700s and I wonder of its had a similar journey in its life before turning up in these loving hands. In the slightly bewildered interview Bell gave to Alan Titchmarsh between movements he anthropomorphised it -- talking about its quirks like some might describe a child or pet. It’s a part of him and as he said, he’s still learning about what it’s capable of. Pity Andrew Kennedy sandwiched between these two, his expressive face bursting into action as he approached each line of the Elgar, especially since he was the only one not to reprise in the second half, or the bit that everyone in the country watches. Seems a bit unfair.

I commented on Facebook afterwards that I was ‘tired and emotional’ which I was and I still am. I always cry during Jerusalem but this year is simply meant more because with the exception of exalting the monarch and the improved Auld Lang Syne it was the last piece of the season and unlike previous years I feel like I’ve lived it. I wonder if anyone else has heard all of the Albert Hall proms, for the same reasons, and if they did, does that diminish my own achievement (particularly if they were within the Hall itself). I feel like Michael Palin (whose new show was previewed before and after the tv broadcast) at the end of Around The World In 80 Days sitting alone on the tube wanting to tell his fellow passengers that he’s been around the world in seventy-nine days, but not sure ifthey’d believe him. Palin was obviously making a documentary so all of his viewers knew about it, and of course here I am boring you senseless too.

I suppose in the end I’ve done this for me, it means something to me, and that is what is important, to me.

Thanks Henry.

"Informal music making is a source of pleasure for both players and listeners." -- Roger Kamien

Music Tonight’s penultimate Prom, 71, and everything is almost over. The concert was suitably emotional with Brahms’ Symphony No. 1 an epic sweep of a work, referencing both Beethoven and Bach making it a kind of musical footnote to the whole of this years’ concert series, and to what I’ve accomplished. I’m planning a conclusion or review in the next couple of days in which I’ll talk about what the Proms experience has meant to me.

For now, I'm looking at Sunday when there won’t be a new concert to listen to from The Albert and wonder what I'll be doing with myself. I’ve been following this routine since the end of July and I wouldn’t say I’ve been institutionalized but Monday night is going to be very strange indeed as I don’t plug my headphones into my DAB radio, settle on the balcony waiting for the end of In Tune on Radio 3 and the opening description of the upcoming concert.

Not institutionalized, more hopelessly addicted.

Luckily, I have my methadone. A full decade or longer ago in the remaindered book shop in St. John’s Precinct in Liverpool, I bought Roger Kamien’s Music: An Appreciation: Brief Edition, a three hundred page text book tracing the history of music with an explanation of everything from harmony to sound, pitch, dynamics and tone colour. It’s accompanied by three cds of examples to be played here and there to illustrate a point -- Louis Armstrong’s Hotter Than That and Wagner’s Prelude to Act III of Lohengrin demonstrating eloquently the sonic effects of various instrumental sounds.

It’s all written relatively simply and although I’m not sure there’s enough to provide a grasp of musical notation -- at least not to an extent that I could describe it back to you -- it will be exciting to discover where all of the music I’ve been listening to for the past six weeks fits together and the periods in which each composer was working marrying that up with my fragmented knowledge of art history. Even now as I flick through the book I’m oohing and aaghing as I realise how some of these things intermingle. This will be my way of weaning myself out of the concert ritual and possibly, eventually replacing it with something potentially just as addictive, and then, perhaps next Prom season I‘ll have a better idea of what I‘m listening to.

It was published in 1990 and features this rather brilliant illustrative photo (the caption for which is the title of this post) that reminds me of some of the filmed inserts from the Sesame Street of my childhood:

"Its origin and purpose still a total mystery." -- Dr. Floyd, '2001: A Space Odyssey"

Music Despite all of the dancing music, the highlight of tonight's Prom 68 was the exotic and strange Atmosphères by György Ligeti. Understandably used by Stanley Kubrick as part of the soundtrack for 2001: A Space Odyssey, as the Proms website describes it "eschewing melodic, harmonic and even rhythmic motifs for transformations of tone colour and dynamics. Yet it is anything but static in formal design, depending on the concept of ‘micropolyphony’ (densely interwoven textures) to direct both its shorter- and longer-term evolution."

There was nothing for it but to turn of the lights out in the room and think of monoliths and stargates and mad computers. I do wonder if I'd have found this as acceptable if I hadn't heard it so many times in a film first, but I have a sneaky suspicion I would. More and more I'm being drawn to modernist art forms, from architecture to design, to functionality rather than over design for the sake of elaboration. The clean sounds of these chords, primal, uncomplicated and yet also somehow endlessly complex. Overwhelming.

"This is the night mail crossing the border, bringing the cheque and the postal order...." -- W H Auden

Music I'm currently recording tonight's late Prom to listen to tomorrow which I once thought of as cheating but I'd much rather enjoy it with a clear head. It's the beginning of the final week and time has flown by.

Highlights of this past week have been Prom 60, with the Bavarian Radio Symohony Orchestra's rendition of Strauss's Also Sprach Zarathustra (or a chance to hear what happens after the bit that was in 2001); their repeat of Beethoven's 9th during Prom 62 in a different tempo from the first Prom of the year but with no less passion and the Saturday Prom from Cadogan Hall with Samuel West and the Nash Ensemble recreating Britten & Auden's Night Mail, during which I was able to recreate the effect seen in the hall by running up my own video copy; and last night's superb Prom 65 with the San Francisco Symphony's version of Mahler's Symphony No. 7.

If I was to say that I've missed not hearing any of the Proms in situ I'd be lying; I've added promming to my list of things I want to do before you know what happens. Before tonight's show, presenter Donald Mcloud seemed surprised that the tube strike hadn't stopped the hall from being full. But I suspect music fans will do their upmost to get to this kind of concert, always unique.

"Richard Wagner's music is better than it sounds." -- Mark Twain

Music Orchestral instrument jokes. High art humour: "How do you improve the aerodynamics of a trombonist's car? Take the Domino's Pizza sign off the roof."

"It's asking for the taking. Trembling, shaking. Oh, my heart is aching." -- Carly Simon

Music Here is an interesting and altogether surprising fact. Of all the seventy-two Proms I’m working may through this season the Michael Ball concert was the one I was least looking forward to and not for the reasons you’d expect. I love musical theatre. I’m not a fanatic, probably in much the same way as I’m not a fanatic any one genre of music, but I think that Chess, Hair, Rent and The Little Shop of Horrors are sublime and since it goes with the territory there’s a range of movie musical which I adore. I have then no problem at all with musical theatre cropping up in the Proms and to be fair, why should I, this being the first season when I’ve actually sat down and listened to any of them.

The problem is the kind of thing that happens when the songs of musical theatre are dragged from their narrative context and presented in the concert style, all of their original subtlety sapped away in the rush to turn them into show stoppers, all drums and keyboards and vocal crescendos. It’s the musical interludes from 3-2-1 and The Two Ronnies, Brian Connelly at the Royal Variety Performance, people being described as legendary and incomparable, compilation albums on the cover of the Sunday Express, vision mixers have a fit at the controls during a television presentation, performers presenting a concert as a musical biography and now talent shows on a Saturday night. It’s the business of making musical theatre accessible to people outside of the west end whilst simultaneously dragging the heart out of them.

Tonight’s concert fulfilled pretty much all of my, what some might see as, prejudices and unfortunately if you're expecting that this is the story of me being won over once again by something I've heard at the Proms, you're going to be disappointed. Within twenty minutes of the opening I was texting a friend saying some not very nice things as the Albert was bathed in production, drums drowning out the orchestra and Michael Ball referencing over and over what a surprise it was to be at the Proms, but an honour and attempting in his own way to cock a snoop at the critics who didn’t think he should be there and talking over and over about his love of musical theatre, all the while doing that one thing that I really dislike about this kind of presentation - it’s not really about the songs its about the personality. True, all of the concerts are about that to some extent, but it's one of the few concerts where people buying tickets totally because of the performer not because of what he's singing. My friend texted back wondering if was on crack (joke) undoubtedly noting I was blowing the thing totally out of proportion.

During the interval, Ball was interviewed by Bell and came across as a pretty genuine chap, high on the excitement of the night and very gracious in the presence of the great Angellica. Then into the second half, when he knuckled town to providing some excellent versions of songs from Bernstein, Sondheim, Lloyd-Webber and Kretzmer I found loads to enjoy actually. Yes, the production was bombast but it’s not horrible to be reminded of the musical interludes from 3-2-1 and The Two Ronnies sometimes. But then he gives Queen’sThe Show Must Go On a right old rollicking and strip mines Carly Simon‘s Wall Street Hymn (Let The River Run) and we’re back where we started. I know neither of those are from musical theatre but they really didn't deserve the treatment they got tonight. But then Love Changes Everything, and I was admittedly singing along ...

How strange is it that what should have been the most accessible concert would turn into an endurance test for me, even more so than all four to six hours of the final section of Wagner's The Ring Cycle? Musical coach David Grant once described something he’d heard on Never Mind The Buzzcocks as ‘the kind of thing that’s liked by people who like that kind of thing’ which is put down but I couldn’t help but think of it when Ball managed to create an epic pause in the middle of Jerusalem. Like the random musical noise which has been been presented as new compositions in some of these Proms, this particular presentation of some excellent music isn’t for me. Others do like it done this way and that’s fine for them and good luck to them and I wished I understood. But just now and then the camera caught the look of someone in the audience perhaps not enjoying themselves as much as you’d think they would consider they’re there or a member of the orchestra glancing balefully in the direction of the front of the stage and know I’m not alone.

Aren’t I a party pooper? Sorry Michael.

the lone random clapper

Music Prom 50! With twenty-two proms to go I feel like I've reached The Mall and I can see Buckingham Palace in my sights. I mentioned to a friend the other day that I was listening to all the Proms (in the hopes that I could get some suggestions for further listening from him) and he wondered why I would listen to some of the music -- presumably the concerts featuring music I wouldn't really like. I understand what he means -- I'm far more selective with my film diet (which has fallen behind in the past month or so, my backlog has grown so huge there isn't enough time in a decade to watch it all).

I was idly listening to Radio 3 on Sunday lunchtime and Jeremy Sams was joined in the studio by a review for a well known classical music magazine who's name isn't listed in the Radio Times. In her job she has to listen to huge piles of new releases, everything in fact including the music she doesn't really enjoy. She said she's having a disagreement with Prokofiev at the moment and lists the national anthem as her least favourite tune of all time (and then they played a full orchestral version to prove the point). But the point is that in her job, because she has to endure and enjoy everything she's in an enviable position of being able to work out what she does or doesn't like and to make discoveries.

A few years ago, I had my own musical crisis. I was standing in the Vinyl Exchange in Manchester, looking at the racks and I couldn't for the life of me work out what kind of music I actually enjoyed (and stop me if I feel like I've posted this story before). Somewhere along the line, in the midst of college then unemployment then vague employment to commuting employment, I'd lost track of what it was that made me heart and feet thump. So I did what anyone should do in that situation -- began listening to as much music as I could. I worked my way through my cd collection, borrowed discs from libraries, bought a hell of a lot. I did a world music course at the university and stocked up on rough guides to the music of everywhere from Cape Verde to Russia and I eventually realised what kind of music I actually liked. Anything but country (except the odd crossover), most dance or techno and rap. I realised I had a far wider taste than I thought, that my problem wasn't that I didn't know what I liked. It was that I liked everything, but that I had a fear that if I bought a cd I just wouldn't like it. If you see what I mean.

The dark spot in that little exercise was classical music, being one of the massive genres and like jazz (which I suspect I also have a slightly mainstream appreciation of), encompassing a rather large array of sub genres. But the Proms are filling in that blank. By listening to every Albert Hall prom (with a couple on the side) I'm genuinely learning which composers I love, like or loath. I'll keep you in suspense as to which is which when I do my final Proms post, mostly because with twenty-odd Proms to go I don't feel like I can give a definitive answer. All I'll say is that it was particularly difficult last week, a few moments of 'Panic' if you will, but that the odd burst of Bach, Copland and Elgar pulled me back from the brink. But like the reviewer from the music magazine who's name I've managed to miss, unless I hear all of this stuff I'll never know if I like it.

I have confirmed something in this past couple of Proms though -- as far as my musical taste buds go, actual opera -- bad! Symphonies derived from opera -- good! Well, alright I've only heard four of the former and as many of the latter. But in Prom 49, I was bowled over by Thomas Ades's Overture/Waltz/Finale from Powder Her Face, and not at all after the BBC Four expert who I think said it was about fellatio (thereby immediately booking herself on the panel of ITV's Loose Women) but generally underwhelmed by Bartok's Bluebeard's Castle. The themes were wondrous and strange as was the narrative but it all left me strangely cold. Am I wrong to feel that without the warbling of Bluebeard and his wife I would have been moved some more -- that their contribution created a barrier for me. I think this requires further study.

No such barrier tonight during Prom 50 though -- John Adams Doctor Atom Symphony was a tour-de-force and yes, derived from an opera about Oppenheimer, inventor of the atomic bomb. But you could hear still the narrative as it shifted through the movements, from the b-movie tinged opening to the shocking conclusion. As I listened I was taken back to my bright old second college days, during my Science in Entertainment Media lectures hearing about how science was communicated in the 50s and 60s, all of the images of what were then space age rockets and scientists. Although the piece wasn't written then, its sometimes fragmented rhythms seemed to capture the time at least through the prism of historical expectation. I'd heard that John Adams' music was inaccessible but this sounded about as accessible as contemporary music can be without becoming pastiche.

Before this descends into a ramble and not the crisp bit of reflection I intended when I started writing this three quarters of an hour ago, I just wanted to include some props (which is a word I've never used before -- it doesn't sound like one of mine does it -- props -- no shan't be using that again) to Gustavo Dudamel and the Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra who banged out their Prom with ten times more passion than some of the orchestras I've heard since July, making Shostakovich's Symphony No 10 this big, loud impressive world beater of work which even managed to turn the head of one of the BBC Four experts so seemed to be less impressed with Shostakovich in general. Pity about the lone random clapper at the end of the Bernstein during the second half. At the moment when Dudamel required some silence for effect. The more the promenaders shushed the clap happy random clapper, the more they clapped. Spoiled the effect (a bit).

Angellica’s breasts.

People Right, on the basis of the following, I'm going to start a Cult of Angellica Bell. Who's with me?

"We had a Mona the Vampire day. The topic was: ‘Like Mona the Vampire, what is the one thing you want to get your teeth into?’ All the texts said, ‘Angellica’s breasts’, or ‘Angellica’s bum’. So the researcher and I decided to phone the people who texted in. I rang back and said: ‘You’ve sent a text to CBBC’ and they all said: ‘No, it wasn’t me – my mate made me do it.’ When I told them it was me, they all wet themselves. That was one of the best afternoons I had working there. It was hilarious."

Which sounds like a perfectly reasonable way of spending the license fee.

Paying close attention to the music I'm hearing.

Music Me earlier to a parent: "At the end of the concert tonight (Prom 43) there was an encore and the orchestra played Grieg's In the Hall of the Mountain King, which is the kind of thing which orchestras tend to know and the conductor left the stage in the middle to have a listen. How does it go? Erm. Duh-duh-de-duh-duh-de-duh-duh-de-duh-duh-de-duh-duh-de-duh-duh-de-duh-dub-duh. Oh no hold on -- that's the theme from Tetris."

Jeopardy

Music One of the elements I have enjoyed throughout the Proms season is the unexpected levels of potential jeopardy throughout. Not in the Irwin Allen sense of the word though -- more in an unexpected happening leading to human derailment. BBC Four’s presentation of last night’s Prom 40 brought the further interval adventures of presenter Angellica Bell in which she dried totally during the weird quote reading which has been brought in to replace the now defunct Promundrum (which still isn't a real world, despite this blog being the top result in a Google search for it). Having been handed the floor by Verity Sharp (putting in a rare tv appearance now that The Culture Show gig has been invaded by Lauren Don’t Falter Laverne) she burst into some material about Mahler but then forgot what she was going to say; the director cut to a presentation slide and you could hear whispering a quick thank you to someone obviously passing her a prompt card. Bless Angellica Bell, bless her.

She redeemed herself later though -- the expected guest, Tenor Matthias Goerne (who looked to be in obvious pain from a torn ligament whilst singing said Mahler) called in sick and Bell had to improvise an interview with a music teacher who revealed herself to be married to one of the experts in the box. Angelica was a bit more relaxed and even as the chat strayed away from anything related to the show and into what this lady’s teaching career entailed (examining mostly) kept things never less than interesting and actually let the interviewee speak (which is rare thing in broadcasting lately) -- although that could just have been a time stretching strategy. She wasn't on tonight and it just wasn't the same.

Tonight’s Prom 41 brought jeopardy of another kind. The presentation of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue was augmented by an appearance by the Marcus Roberts Trio who noodled away in the solo sections. Of all the works in all the Proms, this is the one with which I’m most familiar -- I’ve a copy of the soundtrack album to Woody Allen’s Manhattan and I’ve heard that version (recorded by the New York Philharmonic) hundreds of times in the past decade. I can whistle bits and pieces back to front. But to hear it live, with Roberts and co introducing totally new sounds made it something unfamiliar again and therefore fresh. The jeopardy was -- could the symphonic and jazz sections collaborate? Most of the time, they could.

Some of the orchestra players seemed a bit pensive during the solos, almost desperate to begin playing again and when they were playing, the piano improv did get drowned out somewhat (although that might have had something to do with the BBC’s sound balance than what was happening in the hall). But my favourite moment was when the camera found a position in which the face of conductor Robert Spano could be seen in the shiny surface of the Steinway piano as Roberts’s fingers danced across the keyboard, obviously enjoying every minute. Then, just as the trio were getting ready for their solo, the congratulatory flower person arrived with the bouquets and tried to hand one to the bassist, instrument in hand, just as he was about to play, distracting everything. Jeopardy.

Ring, ring.

Music Remember how much I enjoyed Prom 15, Verdi's Macbeth?

Prom 39, Wagner's Götterdämmerung began at 4:00.

It's just finished. I remain unconvinced. Except for when Wagner drops in themes which sound like The Flight of the Valkyries. I quite like those. Oh and the big orchestral sounds. And the bit with the dwarf.

It's an amazing performance achievement but I'm afraid I'm a bit like Woody Allen's character at the opening of Manhattan Murder Mystery and saying to Diane Keaton: 'I can't listen to that much Wagner, ya know? I start to get the urge to conquer Poland.'

One good episode of The West Wing later ... I suppose I am slightly disappointed with myself -- I had planned ahead, read the programme notes and listened intently whilst the announcer carefully described the plot, enjoyed the interviews but as with Macbeth I simply couldn't tell what was going on most of the time and although I let the music wash over me, after a while it become pretty frustrating. I wrote and posted this in the meantime and it was eventually simply on in the background which seems like a really duff way to treat the work of the performers. Perhaps one day I'll see it performed and change my opinion entirely.

Lying naked on the floor.

Music By my calculations, tonight's Prom 36 marks the half way point for my prom marathon (for want of a better description). Since I'm the kind of person who never sticks to anything like this it is something of a personal achievement. Highlights so far this week have included Renée Fleming's appearance in Prom 32 -- if I didn't take a shine to Berg's 'Seven Early Songs', the two Korngolds were just angelic - particularly since the translation from the second piece, 'Ich ging zu ihm' from Das Wunder der Heliane sounded like an opera version of Natalie Imbruglia's song Torn. If I could find a translation online I'd prove it to you.

Elsewhere, the stonking (is that the right word?) Prom 34 (given by the Bach Collegium from Japan) confirmed that I'm developing a soft spot for Bach and I went right out to the library today and borrowed his Mass In B Minor. Although these pieces were created as part of an act of worship, like the architecture in churches I can appreciate them as artistic endevour as well. As I lay in bed with the lights out with the sound of voices enveloping my ears, my imagination didn't just transported to the Royal Albert Hall but to the past as well, wondering what it must have been like to hear these works for the first time.

Despite all of that, last night Prom 35, with all that jazz was a welcome change. And how surprising to hear that Duke Ellington was inspired by Shakespeare and was able to bend the bards intent around the band sound. Nothing from Hamlet but it really was fun hearing Cleo Lane singing Sonnet 18 ('Shall I compare thee to a summers day?') which seems to be one of the ultimate cover versions and almost as eclectic as the Reggie renditions of The Beatles I heard once. Lane and her husband John Dankworth were a really entertaining double act too -- it makes a change to hear the people behind the music and a concert were applause and cheering and laughter were positively encouraged.

Here's to the next 36!

Evacuate!

Music Yesterday's sound of silence was explained at the opening of You and Yours on Radio Four today -- there was a fire alarm at the BBC and the building was evacuated. So at least we know their fire procedures work -- everyone drops everything and leaves...

The Sound of Silence

Music In me best Radio Times letter writing style:

Dear Radio Times,

Just before one o'clock on Monday 6th August, Radio 3 dropped from the airwaves. I was waiting for the start of Proms Chamber Music 4 and once a trailer had ended, silence. The obvious joke would be to suggest that they were playing a recording of John Cage's 4'33" but even then, you'd hear the sound of a concert hall or studio. But all I could hear was a bit of static!

When I was at school I attended a career's fair in which the BBC News's Nick Garnett (then still working for local radio) talked about this happening to him and how he'd been told off by his producer because the null space on the sound waves tends to panic the listener. He's wasn't wrong!

At first I thought I'd gone deaf because of all the music I've been listening to. I checked my headphones. Then I checked my digital radio. I tuned in my analogue radio and nothing there either. I even checked my Freeview signal. Silence. Radio 2 was still broadcasting but someone had actually broken Radio 3!

Then crowd noise faded up, presumably from Cadogan Hall and then the announcer chimed in to introduce the Henschel Quartet. At the end of the sublime concert, the Radio 3 continuity person apologised for the gap, putting it down to technical difficulties. In other words, someone had just pressed the wrong button. It's just so unusual for this kind of thing to happen at the BBC and for that length of time!

Good job I took it in my stride and didn't run around testing all the radios isn't it!

Name and address supplied.

That's a prize winning letter right there!

Wollop

Music Because of it's associations outside of Elgar's Enigma Variations (as the wikipedia puts it: "This variation has become popular in its own right and is sometimes used at funerals, memorial services, and other solemn occasions. It is always played at the Cenotaph in London on Remembrance Sunday (the Sunday nearest to 11th November") and it's impossible to listen to Variation 9 'Nimrod' without being touched by it, such a beautiful, eloquent piece and as it was played tonight in Prom 31 by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, I sobbed.

Unusually, on learning that it's partly an intellectual exercise it's power isn't dented because it's also a commemoration of friendship on Elgar's part; each of the variations is a tribute to each of his pals, and many are expressions of how he feels they might compose music if they had the ability. 'Nimrod' is about his best friend, Augustus J. Jaeger, Elgar's best friend (whose surname means hunter in German, the title of the piece referring to a hunter the Old Testament).

He was attempting to emphasis Jaeger's nobility and soundtracks a typical evening walk in which the two of them would be discussing music in this case Beethoven. Elgar achieves this by dropping in elements of Ludwig's work, particularly the adagio from the Eighth Piano Sonata ('Pathetique'). I'm listening to the Sonata as I type and for the first time I can see the similarities between the two works; in fact Elgar's homage seems like even more of an act of love as he slows Beethoven's piano down then throws in some wollop and majesty. I'd be interested to hear an orchestration of this other piece to see how it might compare.

Tonight's notes on the Prom offers words from both Elgar and his daughter on the inspiration behind the piece:

"After a long day’s fiddle teaching in Malvern, I came home very tired. Dinner being over, my dear wife said to me, ‘Edward, you look like a good cigar,’ and having lighted it, I sat down at the piano. In a little while, soothed and feeling rested, I began to play, and suddenly my wife interrupted by saying, ‘Edward, that’s a good tune.’ I awoke from the dream: ‘Eh! tune, what tune!’ and she said, ‘Play it again, I like that tune.’ I played and strummed, and played, and then she exclaimed, ‘That’s the tune.’ And that tune is the theme of the Variations."

Which underlines once more that some of the best art usually comes along when you're not trying to think too hard about it...

Emotional

Music Last night's Prom 29 given by the National Youth Orchestra of Great Britain conducted by Mark Elder was one of, if not the best of the series and one of the few occasion when I've wished I was in the Royal Albert Hall to be a witness. Luckily, friend of the blog Ian Jones did manage to attend and has written this brilliant guest blog post which provides some of the flavour of what it was like:

I've been going to Prom concerts on and off for almost two decades now, but this one was unlike anything I'd heard before.

Some of it was to do with the relationship between the audience and the performers. A lot of friends, family and supporters of the National Youth Orchestra were in, and you could sense there was a great deal of pride in the air. Before the concert even started people in the audience were shouting out individual musicians' names and cheering them on. The place was packed, which helped. It meant the atmosphere was extraordinarily electric.

But what made this concert into one of the finest I've heard in my life was the performance itself. The main work, Shostakovich's 7th Symphony, is one of my favourites by my favourite composer, so I guess I was already pre-disposed to it being a worthwhile evening. However the playing of the NYO was incredible. It was just such an extraordinarily emotional performance; you could see and feel every single one of the players going for it. They were all between the ages of 13 and 19, which made their collective efforts even more staggering.

I was just blown away, frankly. The symphony itself is an emotionally draining adventure (being inspired by the German invasion of the USSR in 1941 and its subsequent stalling at the city of Leningrad; Shostakovich wrote it in the city itself, while it was under siege for a massive 880 days). But to hear it performed this way - the clatter, the poignancy, the control, the effort - was almost too much to take.

At the end the audience went on clapping and clapping. The explosion of applause and goodwill was heartfelt and very moving. I also saw some of the orchestra hugging and congratulating each other as we began to file out, which was really touching.

I can imagine how, if I'd have been watching them, say, 20 years younger than I am now, I would have come away instantly inspired to pick up and learn how to play the first musical instrument I could find. It was that sort of transformative magic that was at work in the Albert Hall all evening.

As it was the camarederie and the shared thrill in performance reminded me more than ever of what I lost when, for a number of reasons, I gave up music as my main vocation and went off to university do something entirely different.

A stunning night with bittersweet associations and one I shall remember for a very long time.

It's all a matter of taste.

Music I thought I was beginning to suffer from Prom fatigue. This isn't how festivals are supposed to be heard. People don't go to Glastonbury to see everything (well they can't, not without a time machine) they pick and choose what they think they'll enjoy most, what they're a fan of. I'm sure most proms audience members do much the same. That's why when I tuned in to Prom 25 late last night, the assembled crowd sounded thin.

But I've made a pledge, a bet with myself so I sat through every excruciating note of Pierre Boulez's Derive 2 even though if you'd included a light show it would have been a perfect brainwashing tool of the kind seen in The Ipcress File. Earlier in the evening, during Prom 24, after Varese's Ecuatorial, the visiting expert on BBC Four made the quite reasonable point that people tend to be far more forgiving of experimental paintings and they'll happily give Picasso a glance but won't give twelve minutes of their time to Varese.

I'm sure if someone explained to me what Boulez was attempting with his work I'd probably be more open, a fan even. I mean I like the kind of modernist architecture from the 60s which is being demolished by the brickload across the country, so I'm really open to ideas. But last night, having enjoyed the sublime Le Mer from Debussy, which certainly did sound of the sea and offered the blue print for a dozen other scores related to the ocean, Derive 2, just sounded, and I know I've used this phrase before but I can't think of another one, like random musical noise.

Helpfully, Verity Sharp who was covering the Radio 3 concert, and the Proms website offered a few pointers. It is, apparently, "an essay in notions of time" in which "harmonies march pretty well all through, while the surface activity may be dazzling, surprising, exciting and, at times, graced with the less common trait in this composer’s music of humour. The work proceeds like a river, sometimes dashing through rapids, where the instrumental lines crash against one another and break up, sometimes entering pools of harmonic reflection. There are passages where the beat is strong and others where movement is flexible." Which sounds amazing, but I couldn't hear it. That in fact sound more like a description of La Mer than what I heard later.

On the occasion of the deaths of Bergman and Antonioni, Noel Murray writes at The AV Club about having a blind spot when it comes to certain film directors, no matter how hard he tries he simply didn't get their work. At first he thought it was because he simply wasn't clever enough to grasp the nuances that, even after much reading, it was simply about him. Then it occurred to him that he simply just didn't like the work that much, that he just wasn't a fan. I feel much the same about this Boulez piece (and some of the abstract noodlings that have graced The Albert Hall) -- it's not that I'm stupid because I don't enjoy this stuff. It's just not to my taste. And that's OK.

Because essentially it means that this musical odyssey is doing one of the things I wanted it to -- develop my musical taste -- or help me to decide what I actually like. I just need to find a way of making the most of what I don't like. Odyssey being the operative word probably in relation to the other piece last night Harrison Bertwhistle's Neruda Madrigales which sounded for all the world like the alien chorus that greeted the appearance of the monolith on the moon in 2001.

Which brings me back toProm fatigue. After last night's Prom, I also wondered if I'd simply reached a limit. Certainly turning off my Prom 3 catch-up two thirds of the way through this afternoon, possibly the most spectacular of shows (the bit with the coat rack -- how funny was that?), would suggest that perhaps I should walk away and get back to the visual and verbal narratives I'm used to where music is secondary to the cause, and to a place where I'm not writing sentences quite like this one.

Then, of course Prom 26 got me right back on track. If the Gyorgy Kurtag's Stele had me reaching for yet another filmic reference again -- Alien this time -- very Jerry Goldsmith -- Mahler's Symphony No. 9 just drained me. What I'm discovering is that I have a taste for music that isn't just an intellectual experiment; that I like music which has a story attached, either within its fabric or which led to its composition. In this case:

"His daughter Maria (known as Putzi) had died of scarlet fever in July 1907; indeed it was when the doctor visited to minister to her grieving family that he gave Gustav a check-up and discovered his heart murmur. Most parents are far more consumed by the deaths of their children than the anticipation of their own demise. and if Mahler was indeed working out his grief over Putzi in the Ninth, he could not have left her a more lasting or more loving memorial."

I'm sure that what I was tapping into - this was certainly the work of someone surrounded by death; listening I'd at least noticed the loss and loneliness (I suppose you always identify the emotions you can most empathise with) and although right now I can't recall specific details, couldn't hum to you any of the themes, an echo of what I felt whilst listening is still here. That I like too.

Still no Mozart though ...

Commitment

Music The BBC has advertised a vacancy for a 'Rank & File' Viola No.4 at the BBC Symphony Orchestra and reading through the job description has done nothing but increased my admiration for the players, since as well as having to be at the top of their class in relation to their musical ability, they also have to show an exceedingly strong commitment to the work:

"The R&F Viola No.4 will work 100% of the Orchestra’s schedule. All members of the Orchestra receive 5 weeks leave per year. Three of these weeks are fixed within the orchestral schedule, and the remaining 2 weeks may be taken as flexible leave subject to operational requirements and by agreement with the Orchestra Management.

Whilst this position does not require the R&F No.4 Viola to work exclusively for the BBC Symphony Orchestra, it is expected that the Orchestra will have first-call on your availability. In accordance with BBC policy regarding leave, any time off must be agreed in advance by the Management and is subject to the scheduling requirements of the BBC."

It probably sounds obvious, there is a level of sacrifice being expected here which I'm not sure many of us would be able to keep up with. So yes, tons of admiration.