Music of the Spheres.

Music Something I love about Doctor Who, other than that it’s Doctor Who, is its ability to combine with some of my other obsessions. Granted with forty-five years of story telling, odds are that it's bound to bump in to a couple of anyone's proclivities (unless you’re Max Mosley) but it’s relatively scary, at least for me, that even the latest few television series have worked in jukeboxes, the Olympics, Shakespeare, communal singing, Kylie Minogue and now the Proms on Radio 3. Frankly if the plots of any of next year’s specials are pinioned around cream cheese bagels, French cinema, art galleries in the north west of England or Superlambananas, I’ll assume Russell T Davies is using a mind probe on my cranium.

It’s only in the last year I’ve become a bit of a stalker when it comes to classical music, after listening to every Albert Hall prom in the 2007 season then buying a job lot of BBC Music Magazine on ebay. Over the past dozen months it’s become apparent that all of the arts and media are influenced by the European classical tradition, either directly or indirectly and that the music in Doctor Who’s no exception. Though initially strapped to a synthesizer, as the series has progressed and its budget increased composer Murray Gold has allowed his orchestral sensibilities to take flight and if he’s not nipping in a bit of choral Orff or Wagner in here, he’s luxuriating in some brassy Copland or Bernstein there, a big sound designed for the small screen. Gold should feel very proud to hear his music finally played in what is for some the home of western classical music and played so intelligently here by the BBC Philharmonic and London Philharmonic choir under Torchwood composer Ben Foster and Stephen Bell.

I don’t know what the Promenaders (literally) on the ground thought of the dedicating of a concert to his music, but I’d hope that even if they’d never seen an episode of the series before (why?) they’d see that Gold can be as bombast yet thematically interesting as some of their favourite composers. Certainly listening to The Doctor Forever and Rose’s theme, they might note that though their roots are in the ‘light’ category within which film and television music is usually pigeon holed, there is a real depth to the composition and some thought given as to how to express the thematic ideas inherent in the series; if music from the likes Korngold can find a life outside of its Hollywood utilisation why not his similarly surnamed televisual successor?

Rather than rerunning the set list from the Cardiff Children In Need concert, Murray (assuming he chose the music) weighed heavily on underscores from the past couple of seasons. Donna’s theme is a Gershwinesque affair, Astrid Peth a neat bit of mournful Monteverdism whilst the brilliant Song For Freedom which develops the Ood them and recalls the melody from Song For Ten for ultimate deployment in Journey’s End. I’d missed it in that episode underneath my own sobbing, but I think it’s one of Gold best pieces of writing for the series, and must have sounded spectacular from within the hall. About the only disappointments were perhaps the Dalek music which was ultimately a mess of choruses vying for control, the rendition of the new version of the theme which was just less cohesive overall to the one we enjoyed for seasons two and three (at least it wasn't Nigel Kennedy) and Song For Ten, in which original episode vocalist Tim Philips seemed to be taken with the moment bless him -- but here’s the wrong place to start the Hannon debate again.]

Let’s instead applaud the non-Who choices smuggled into the concert as a Reithian measure to demonstrate to kids that classical music isn’t boring. Opening the concert with a medley which began up front with the gutwrenching Doctor’s theme then shifting into Copland’s Fanfare For The Common Man cleverly enunciated the familiar silhouette of the Doctor and his human companion whilst simultaneously as explained in the programme notes “serving as a fanfare for the human spirit, great endeavour and enormous courage”. Holst’s Jupiter from The Planets whose B-section, which was famously borrowed for the hymn ‘I Vow To Thee My Country’, recalls those episode scores which break off in the middle for a bit of churchiness, Gridlock and The Family of Blood. The composer apparently hated what the appropriation did to people’s appreciation of his whole work, which to an extent mirrors Russell T Davies’s own reaction when he found out Gridlock had been nominated for an award by the Christian right in the US for the values it upheld (at least for them).

In the second half, The Ride of the Valkries brought about the only listenable bit of Wagner’s The Ring Cycle to the audience, particularly the adults who more than likely had the helicopter scene from Apocalypse Now in their heads – I know I did. When the BBC decide to do a Lucasfilm and start merchandising the time war, I for one can’t wait for Gary Russell novelise a version of the film with the timelords sending the Doctor and some time tots into the vortex after a Kurtz-like Davros lauding over Skaro. “Gallifrey … shit.” “They were gonna make me a chancellor for this, and I wasn't even living on their fuckin' planet anymore.” “He likes you because you haven’t regenerated.” “You are fighting for the biggest nothing in history.” Etc. If the Montague and Capulet from Romeo and Juliet would be the perfect accompaniment to a hundred marching Cybermen, about the only interloper was Mark Anthony-Turnage’s premiere piece The Torino Scale which for much of its duration sounded like he was purposefully smuggling in incidental music from Classic Star Trek. As Chandler said once on Friends when faced with an ultrasound: “I don’t know what it is, but I think it’s attacking the Enterprise.”

In the middle of all that was the ‘special scene’, Music of the Spheres. On radio, this was as close to a Big Finish audio as the new series is going to get with David Tennant in full bouncy, shouty, jokey, Attack of the Graske mode. Along with a Graske. Not so much a proper adventure, as a shout out to the audience, this must have been a great surprise in the hall as the kids found the Doctor addressing them and it says a lot for Tennant’s charisma that he can work the crowd even on video. Trust Russell T Davies to write something which made the most of the venue yet still worked without the pictures, got the orchestra to do some work (neat bit of atonalism from the Doctor there), provide a squee worthy moment for the fans in beating his foe and a touching moment essentially telling the kids how important music is to us all. Is it canon? Who care, it was just great fun, and I’ve tried my best here not to spoil the surprises for those of you who are waiting for the television broadcast whenever that may be (assuming you didn’t watch the version which appeared on the official website briefly or some dodgy version recorded on camera phone uploaded to YouTube in the mean time).

There’s a routine to listening to Proms on Radio 3. There’s the announcer, on this occasion a slightly bewildered sounding Sarah Walker doing her best to describe the on-screen action like Caroline John trying to improvise the narration for a BBC Audio release. There’s getting slightly teed off with the audience for coughing through everything, this time replaced with babies and applause for on stage action, neither of which I’ll begrudge on this occasion. And there’s Twenty Minutes, the programme that spills into each interval. When Radio 3 commissioned science fiction writer Justina Robson to provide the half time whimsy here, were they really expecting a Behind The Sofa-style evisceration of Journey’s End and the John Nathan Turner era along with some slightly shippy fan fiction? Robson’s obviously something more than a passing fan (even though she ignored McGann’s existence) but could this not have been an analysis Gold’s music, perhaps something prepared by the Doctor Who Confidential team instead of an examination of Captain Jack’s omnisexuality and why Tom didn’t jump Leela’s bones?

Luckily, it wasn’t quite enough to destroy the sense of celebration evident elsewhere in the broadcast. The story of what’s really going on with Freema and the casting politics was set aside for her introductions and her enthusiasm – if indeed she has fled the Whoniverse, she’ll be a great loss. And look (or in this case hear) its Adulthood’s Noel and Camille joking about Wagner and Catherine hopefully realising the affection that most of us fans now have for her and Donna. As one heckler said, ‘Bring her back’ – here, here, though I can't see it happening. In the end, all were beaten by Nick Briggs’s Daleks and the majesty of Julian Beach’s Davros whose spine chilling guttural tones, creeping their way through familiar names like ‘Henry Wood’ and ‘Royal Albert Hall’ were one of the true highlights and worth the organising of this whole endeavour alone. I can't wait to see it all again on television.

Next: Messian’s La Transfiguration de Notre Seigneur.

Elsewhere I've reviewed Prom 13: "Something I love about Doctor Who, other than that it’s Doctor Who, is its ability to combine with some of my other obsessions. Granted with forty-five years of story telling, odds are that its bound to bump in to a couple of anyone proclivities (unless you’re Max Mosley) but it’s relatively scary, at least for me, that even the latest few television series have worked in jukeboxes, the Olympics, Shakespeare, communal singing, Kylie Minogue and now the Proms on Radio 3."

"On the other side of the screen, it all looks so easy." -- Kevin Flynn, 'Tron'

TV I don't much like Messian then. Huh. Last night's Prom 5 brought his L'Ascension and Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum (which sounds like the spell Harry Potter uses to summon Voldemort). We've spoken before about how my tin ears can't work their drums around atonality, and here again though I could intellectually understand what the composer was attempting and I especially liked the specification that there had to be two minutes between movements allowing plenty of time for people to clear their throats, it was mostly a trial. Saint-Saens Symphony No 3 was predictably my musical highlight for the evening, with the organ and pianos dueling like the two banjos in the film Deliverance.

The camera work was pretty impressive during the BBC Four broadcast of L'Ascension, which has to be the longest live continual broadcast of an organ solo outside of Christmas. It began with a long, slow zoom in from the outer edge of the hall to the organist's box which actually must be the longest shot that has appeared on television in quite some time. A man sitting at an organ is it seems even less televisual than a piano solo, but this still managed to be a visual feast due to the director's willingness to show off the architecture of the pipes, organist Olivier Latry's fingering and the acoustic adjusters in the ceiling.

Back on the balcony (the studio's only to be utilised on BBC Two, thank goodness) Charles Hazlewood was refereeing a passive aggressive battle to be heard between his experts, composer Stevie Wishart and Gillian Moore (from the South Bank Art Centre). The routine would go something like this: Hazlewood asked Moore a question about Messian or whoever, which Moore answered in detail and at great depth, then Hazlewood turned to Wishart who attempted to offer more background but somewhere in the middle of sentence would be interrupted by Moore who then talked in some more in detail and at great depth. Wishart would be suitably perturbed and take to looking into the auditorium, at the sky, everywhere in fact but Hazlewood or Moore. This happened a few times, and throughout I was willing Wishart to interrupt back but to no avail. And the one moment when Wishart was allowed to get into a flow -- on Saint-Saens, Moore continued by repeating almost everything she'd already said. They did seem to be getting on by the climax though.

During the interval: Zeb Soames completed the introduction to an interview with conductor Myung-Whun Chung and Latry only to turn and discover them in heated conversation in French. Just at it seemed that Soames had attracted their attention, Chung began to sing. Soames allowed this to carry on for what seemed like an eternity (but was in truth probably only seconds) before stepping forward and interrupting. Chung and Latry looked at him in much the same way as two businessman striking a deal at a lunch meeting in a restaurant might after a waiter's approached them mid flow to ask them if they'd like to order desert. Soames well redeemed himself later though by offering a useful potted history of the Royal Albert's organ and working in a Tron reference -- the instrument appears on the cult film's soundtrack.

The Sound of Promundrums

Music The excellent Proms issue of BBC Music Magazine was published today which means there’s just a week until the festival. I’m very excited but also strangely reticent. It would be very easy for me to decide to listen to everything again, but to some extent that seems like it would betray last year’s personal achievement, make it less special somehow. Also, I just don’t want to be in the position of listening to some random noise, sorry avant-guard, at half eleven at night, or a whole day’s worth of some opera I’ve only a tangential interest in. Listen to all of the music I have in the intervening months has certainly helped to develop my tastes and they’re predictably mainstream.

Still, there’s a folk day and Bach day and Carolin Widmann playing Stravinsky, and plenty of Mozart. Reading the Proms line-up is a different experience this year since I know many of the performer names and have a broad notion of the music to expect in each concert and understand why certain composers have been gathered together. I bought the programme on the publication date but haven’t looked at it until now, not wanting to spoil the surprises. On every page there’s something amazing, Requiems and Passions, Rhapsodies and Masses. New director Roger Wright has clearly wanted his first programme to be as inclusive as possible and every major composer seems to be represented.

Even Murray Gold. A Doctor Who prom! I’ve known about this for months of course, and that there would be a special episode in the middle. It’s an exciting opportunity for Gold though to have his music heard in one of the centres for classical music and to my ears certainly deserves it. Say what you like about the sound mix used on the episodes, but the past four years of the programme have produced some of the most memorable television spot music ever, as good as many film composers (if not better in some cases). No word as to which themes will appear in those forty minutes before the apt choice (if you know the series) of Copland’s Fanfare for the Common Man though surely Martha’s theme should get a look in given Freema Agyeman’s presenting the shebang…

Perhaps that’s why Charles Hazlewood (pictured) has decided to go for the David Tennant look this season. Good to see one of my criticisms of last year’s coverage has been heeded – the knowledgeable BBC Four presenters are being used on the BBC Two broadcasts this time instead of otherwise unseen interlopers from Classic FM with Suzy Klein and Hazlewood heading up the shows on the second best channel (though he’s being bumped for Clive Anderson(!) for the last night). No sign of the magical Angellica Bell whose random presenting style and pronunciation of the Promundrum word always livened up an interval last year, though Radio 3’s Sara Mohr-Pietsch will be appearing on screen for the first time. On the basis of all that, it seems to me the best option is to promise myself all of the televised Proms and as much else as I can fit in without becoming too obsessive.