Proms 2009: Prom 19 – Mendelssohn Symphony No.2 ‘Hymn of Praise’ \ Elder \ Halle Orchestra

Given the length of Mendelssohn’s second symphony ‘Hymn of Praise’ – a testing 62 minutes according to the Proms brochure – it wasn’t a huge surprise to read that the Halle’s performance of the work was the first outing at the Proms for 40 years.

On paper, the combination of orchestral forces, chorus and soloists may at first seem a bit of a turn off. And yet there’s an undeniable and relentlessly upbeat force in the symphony, making it impossible not to crack a smile somewhere close to the beginning and maintain it throughout.

The sound of the Halle chorus and Halle Youth Choir was uplifting, an obviously well chosen number to fill the cavernous interior of the Royal Albert Hall. The soloists looked fantastic. Tenor Steve Davislim sounded especially striking too, something I’m surprised I feel able to say given that I know absolutely nothing about singers.

What hit home for me was the timing of the performance.

Being a fan of perfection and synchronicity, it wasn’t until I journeyed into central London from a hard day working from home (and in case you’re wondering, yes I *do* work when I work from home) I learnt Mendelssohn had written the work to commemorate the invention of the movable type printing press by Johannes Gutenberg.

Shortly before I left for the concert, I’d learnt that the publishing system I have been using for the past few months had gone through something of a startling transformation. The error messages which is returned every time I attempted to publish something had suddenly stopped appearing. Quite unexpectedly, something which had formerly seemed as though it would hang around me and everything I was involved with like a bad smell, had suddenly vanished. Dark thunderclouds suddenly dispersed leaving a handful of fluffy white clouds and blue skies.

I checked the news I’d received from a colleague, by attempting to publish something. It really was the case. The error message was no more. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t long before I reliased to what extent those error messages had been weighing down on me in recent weeks.

It’s fair to say that this ‘weight’ is nothing in comparison to the burden someone else I’ve been in contact with today has to suffer. To go into that would warrant far too many words and cross way too many lines.

Instead, satisfy yourself your potential curiosity with the name of the publishing system I use which now works: Movable Type.

(Oh .. tonight’s programme notes by Andrew Huth were really very good. Well done him.)

Listen to Mendelssohn’s Symphony No.2 (and whilst you’re at it, listen to soprano Susan Graham in the first half too in Berlioz’s test piece for the Prix de Rome)

Proms 2009: Prom 16 – Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto No.2 \ Stephen Hough \ CBSO

Listen to an honest but still sincere reaction to Stephen Hough’s rendition of Tchaikovsky’s second piano concerto.

Listen to the performance from the first half of Prom 16 by using the BBC’s handy iPlayer thing.

Proms 2009: Prom 15 – Martinu Concerto for 2 Pianos \ Stravinsky Petrushka \ BBC Symphony Orchestra \ Belohlavek

I wasn’t in the best of moods when I sat down to listen to Prom 15 at the Royal Albert Hall this evening. Uppermost in my mind was a deep sense of guilt sitting in the Grand Tier overlooking the stage.

Technically speaking they are the best seats in the house. It’s hear you can hear the performers play best. Those of us who dream about what it’s like working in TV presentation get the chance to look on the area Charles Hazlewood normally occupies during a live BBC Four broadcast. And it’s a very short walk to an underused lavatory where there’s little chance of queue.

Despite all of this, I didn’t especially feel relaxed. In part this was down to really rather wanting to be in the arena. Technically I should have felt superior. In reality I felt a little shabby.

My sense of unhappiness deepened during the concerto for 2 pianos by Martinu. The sight of two pianos occupying the front of the stage and the occasional bit of syncopation in the solo lines in the first movement made me think I should like the work more, but there was something in the music which failed to hold my attention. I checked with the people around me after the applause died down. Pretty much everyone else around me agreed (even if the interview we did in the corridor suggests otherwise).

What Martinu’s work did succeed in doing was highlighting just how brilliant an orchestrator Stravinsky obviously was as demonstrated in the second half of the concert. The BBC Symphony Orchestra were in fine form with an unexpected comedy contra-bassoon and some serious sawing away in the strings.

Gripping and dramatic, tonight performance reminded me of one thing: even though experience has repeatedly proved otherwise, I shouldn’t jump to the conclusion I’ll find Stravinsky’s music difficult to listen to. Just give me strong ideas, clearly orchestrated and energetically executed and I’ll happily go in search of more.

Listen to the Martinu here and the sparkling performance of Stravinsky’s Petrushka here.

Proms 2009: Prom 14 – Holst Choral Symphony \ Elgar Enigma Variations \ Atherton \ BBC NOW

Don’t think for a moment this is the sum total of the time I’ll spend listening to this concert. I’m just saving up the entire experience for the time I’ll need it most. And if what to know when that is, you’ll need to listen to this audio. Yes you will.

Listen

But we did listen to the second half .. oh yes we did.

Listen

Proms 2009: Prom 13 (Family Prom) – Young Persons Guide \ Benjamin Britten \ BBC Philharmonic

For many years now, I’ve steered clear of Royal Albert Hall on Family Prom day. In it’s previous guises as the Blue Peter Prom or last year’s Doctor Who Prom, I’ve remained at home and listened on the radio. I’d probably feel a bit out of place, I’d think. I’d probably get a little worked up by the running around and the kiddies complaining at being in this ridiculous hall staring not at the stage where the people are but up at their parents who dragged them there, looking as if to ask when exactly are we going home Mum? 

I couldn’t avoid it this year. I’d shot some video with some children from the school I used to go to for the BBC Proms website (yes, it was a fee-paying school – I didn’t choose to go there, my parents did) and now those same children were coming to their first Prom to hear the music performed in the hall.

The point of the video was to see how easy it was to introduce children to classical music, to get a handle on what made them tick. 

I learnt two very important things: if you’ve jumped to a conclusion about what you think children will like then you’re probably wrong so you might as well think the opposite AND children are considerably brighter than anyone gives them credit for. Thus you can throw all sorts of weird and wonderful things at them on the basis that if only one out of a class of thirty has an emotional response to it, then you’ve done well. 

Amid the gurgling and the rustling of papers and sweet wrappers of the kind you won’t hear on the Radio 3 broadcast on iPlayer of this morning’s family prom I was reminded of those two big lessons I learnt when I went back to school earlier in the year. 

There’s a great deal of anxiety surrounding children and classical music. What will become of classical music if we don’t reach out to a younger audience as though we’re not connecting with them yet? Some say classical music could well be in crisis. Others reckon we should just throw them in at the deep end and be done with it. Everyone calls for direct action as though children are starved of the music some of the rest of us have grown to love and appreciate as we’ve got older. 

Some of that debate is justified and interesting and vital. A lot of it is white noise, however, white noise which skews the image and promotes the wrong idea. 

Watching from the box and standing in the arena during this morning’s Prom watching children hang on to their parents, I was reminded of one key thing about sharing classical music with the “blighters” Benjamin Britten said were impossible to be “too sophisticated” with.

Just play them the stuff. Have classical music just “be there” in the background. Don’t make a massive thing about it. Don’t make a massive play to court the young audience’s attention. Don’t use words like “fun” or let the exclamation mark key be hit too many times on the keyboard.

Just keep classical music on the radar in the same way you might get them to kick a ball around from time to time. Don’t hit them over the head with it – just invite them into the concert hall from time to time and say “look, here it is, give it a go”.

If those same people come back to classical music in later years, I’ll guarantee they’ll remember the moment of first contact with fondness like I did this morning as I stood and listened to Benjamin Britten’s Young Person’s Guide, recalling a distant memory of me kneeling on the floor of a sports hall listening to a local orchestra hack their way through it. 

That’s what the Family Prom and it’s Family Orchestra did, to my mind. It planted the seed. Now you just need to wait for it to grow a bit to be sure it had it’s effect. Give it 10-15 years. Yes, that’s how long you’ll probably need to wait.

Proms 2009: Prom 12 – Holst Planet Suite \ Mackerras \ BBC Philharmonic

There’s an assumption, a conclusion jumped to, amongst self-proclaimed “serious” classical music lovers. It’s this: Live music can only be appreciated if you’re within spitting distance of the concert platform. It’s the kind of opinion which makes radio and TV producers guffaw with derision. It’s as though radio and television are the poor relation to the real thing.

Last night’s Prom at the Royal Albert Hall disproved that assumption. The BBC Symphony Orchestra under the direction of Sir Charles Mackerras wowed audiences at home with a programme of simple, good value works all in High Definition (for those who had it) or on normal BBC Four. Some of us smug so and sos experienced it in Dolby Surround.

Whilst it may not initially sound like a choice viewing experience, being able to see the beads of sweat on the forehead of the principal clarinettist confirmed in my mind at least that HD was not only the way to go, but this combined with a large glass of beer and a chinese takeaway made this particular Proms experience superior over standing in the arena.

The truth is that I’d dismissed Holst’s Planet Suite in part because I’ve heard it so much. Movements played out of context, repeatedly, make the thought of the complete work seem like nothing more than wallpaper.

But I’d underestimated to what extent Holst’s Planet Suite was as popular as it was. The broadcast might have been relayed rather than live, but that apparent drawback in live presentation I’m so hot on didn’t dent enthusiasm with people who like to combine a Saturday night with a spot of tweeting on the internet. People seemed to be rising to the occasion. The number may not have been massive, but as collective experiences of a supposedly niche interest, it felt good.

Watching at home and tracking what people were saying on Twitter at the same time not only brought the Proms out into the open a little more, but saw it occupy it’s rightful place in Saturday night entertainment. Nothing fancy, nothing brash, just a little bit of culture in the form of a fantastic performance of the Planet Suite, reminding me that Holst wrote something which all of us desperately courting an audience which manages to grab attention and maintain interest all the way through the 50 minutes it lasts. I’m sure Holst would have been delighted.

And not a single round of applause out of place, which in a strange way seemed rather odd.

Watch the BBC Four broadcast of Prom 12 via the BBC iPlayer or listen to the audio via BBC Radio 3.

Proms 2009: Prom 11 – Organ Prom \ Elgar \ Dickinson \ David Titterington

There’s something irresistable about a programme of organ music. It takes me back to my childhood and times when I stood in a chilly church, observing enforced periods of silence with nothing but the inexplicably reassuring smell of mouldy hymn books.

The musical backdrop was always underpinned by the sound of the organ. The bigger the venue, the better. I wanted to grand architecture even if I didn’t always follow the theatrics which went on inside it.

This probably explains why I’m a recent convert to Choral Evensong on Radio 3. Wednesday afternoons offer an hour of relative calm in a busy office. I’m quite particular about observing the moment. If it’s a live broadcast, even better. I will when necessary settle for listening back on the BBC iPlayer. Little wonder the prospect of an hour-long organ recital was exactly my cup of tea even if it did mean travelling in from South East London for this one concert.

Whilst the day-ticket queue grew outside the Royal Albert Hall for the evening Prom, I and presumably like-minded others settled down for a programme consisting of two Elgar sonatas, and a small selection of blues-influenced variations by Peter Dickinson.

Elgar would be a doddle – and was – I reckoned. There were moments, I’ll happily confess, when I dozed off. My eyelids closed, legs trembled and if it hadn’t have been for a few unexpected fortissimo chords I may well have remained there in the arena until the following morning.

My snoozing was not because I was bored but solely because of the soporofic effects of the quieter passages in both Elgar compositions. It was an indulgence to have the space to lay out on the arena floor and stare up at the friendly looking blue mushrooms above me. The soundtrack was every bit as cushioning as listening to Charlotte Green read the late night Shipping Forecast on Radio Four.

It was the Dickinson which made me feel the hard floor beneath me on a number of occasions. I wriggled uncomfortably during the opening theme when the sound of the blues emanating from the Willis Organ made me think of dads embarrassing their offspring at school discos they weren’t invited to. Somehow the juxtaposition of styles didn’t feel quite right. When I started thinking of rainy seaside resorts and Wurlitzer organs in the later variations I did, I confess, begin to smile quite possibly for all the wrong reasons.

In case you’re wondering, I’m not being mean. Nor am I using it as a thinly veiled criticism. I’m all for bringing seemingly disparate worlds together. Who says the rule is that the likes of blues can’t be combined with the classical organ? If there are people who say it shouldn’t then that is reason enough to do it. You know, just to antagonise them a bit. The chances are, I wouldn’t have chosen to listen to it if you’d given me a CD recording. So get me in a concert hall and sandwich it between two familiar works and then see what effect it has. If the work makes me listen, if it makes me think and (most importantly) it makes it memorable then the composer has absolutely done what he set out to achieve.

What’s even more important is remembering that there’s every chance that if the person who wrote it is still alive, there’s a reasonably good chance he’s in the audience. I was reminded of this piece of advice (given to me some years ago when I attended something which displayed little I enjoyed especially after the conductor insisted he and the orchestra ploughed through the work for a second time in front of the audience) when organist David Titterington graciously re-directed the hearty applause towards composer Dickinson, sitting in the stalls just a few metres away from where I was in the arena.

Listen to the organ recital via the BBC iPlayer. Keep an ear out for the final section in Dickson’s Blue Rose Variations, described as ‘an orgy of secularity invading the once sacred organ loft’. It’s quite a corker.

Proms 2009: Prom 10 – Mayumi Miyata \ Orchestre National de Lyon

Listen (to me during the first interval at Prom 10 – it was a little windy)

This evening’s Prom may not necessarily go down as the most memorable of this season – in the first week it does rather have to compete with the Poulenc Double at the First Night, Handel Partenope (if unlike me you’re so inclined) and Haitink and the LSO’s exquisite rendition of Mahler 9 the other night – but that’s not to say it wasn’t a refreshing education given it was the first time I’d clapped eyes on a sho.

The sight of soloist Mayumi Miyata playing the Japanese equivalent of a mouth organ was arresting. Petite Miyata was barefoot on the platform, a self-possessed vision of loveliness in a blustering white outfit. The 17 pipes of the equally petite instrument she held in her hands masked her face throughout the opening Autumn Ode by Toru Takemitsu and Toshio Hosokawa’s Cloud and Light in the third part of the concert.

The sound emanating from the instrument seemed fragile. There were moments when the sound was so quiet the only reminder Miyata was playing it was her holding it in front of her face – that and the sound of people shuffling from foot to foot in the arena. If she looked a little bemused at the end of both her performances this did little to detract from the magical effect the sound of the instrument and the accompanying orchestra offered the auditorium.

The rest of the programme was staple fayre. Ravel’s Spanish Rhapsody was brought alive by the Orchestra National de Lyon whose smiles at the prommers clearly showed they were enjoying their appearance at the BBC Proms. Violinst Akiko Suwanai rocked up in the second segment of the concert with Sarasate’s Concert Fantasy on Themes from ‘Carmen’ and Ravel’s concert piece for violin Tzigane.

Debussy’s La Mer was another work I hadn’t heard even though I’ve thought for a long time I ought to have done. It’s made frequent appearances at the Proms and is – I don’t think it’s incorrect to say – standard repertoire. Critic Pierre Lalo apparently “failed to ‘see or smell the sea’ “ (don’t think for a moment I knew that beforehand – I read it in the programme notes this evening) – frankly, the man was either mad or attending a concert of someone else’s music the night he commented on the work.

What seemed more poignant – possibly because I’m a romantic sap – was how La Mer had be completed whilst composer Claude Debussy was winding down his marriage with his first wife whilst continuing his affair with his soon to be mother of his child. (Again, I read this in Paul Griffith’s programme notes). How on earth does anyone do something as sickeningly creative as writing a series of symphonic sketches when your personal life is all change? Maybe I am – yet again – missing the point. Maybe that turmoil is just the inspirational kick he needed to get it completed.

Listen on BBC iPlayer to the first part, the second part and the third part here. It was also broadcast on TV; Charles Hazlewood was wearing purple this evening.

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Adorable Tom Service (who frankly should be bottled up and sold with the Proms programme as your own personal commentator) speaks to one of the Radio 3 Interactive Social Media Elves about the sho. Definitely worth a listen.

 

Listen

Proms 2009: Prom 9 – Finzi \ Elgar \ Leon McCawley \ BBC Philharmonic

Listen to an Audio Boo thing

The BBC Philharmonic joined forces with Vassily Sinaisky for a programme of nearly all English music from composers Moeran, Finzi and Elgar.

I say nearly all because although Irish born Moeran did spend some of his life writing in England, the symphony played during Prom 9 was half and half recollections of Ireland and East Norfolk.

As a kid I spent a long time flitting between Norfolk and Suffolk – we lived on the border – and for a long time I found little of interest in either county. It was only when I listened to Benjamin Britten’s music I slowly came around to thinking that East Suffolk was best. Moeran’s music (listen to the second movement for his take on East Norfolk) did little to change that opinion.

The real surprise was the Finzi played by former Young Musician participant Leon McCawley. Watching him on TV proved what an amazing and totally reliable ability the chap has in delivering a clear and robust tone from the Steinway on the stage. Finzi’s writing (in my opinion at least) shows some sympapthy for the soloist who is required to deliver a massive cadenza right at the beginning of the work instead of the end (where you’d normally hear it in a standard concerto). Was Finzi getting the worst stuff out of the way first or (as I suspect Leon McCawley might have thought) deliberately frightening the soloist before he walked on to stage. Either way McCawley rose to the challenge.

The BBC Phil delivered a fantastic performance of Elgar’s Symphony No.2, something I hadn’t heard in it’s entirety and am as I write downloading off iTunes. Pundit Tom Service was right in his fairly forceful assertion during the interval that the Symphony is Elgar proper. Forget the populist stuff, this is the Elgar you need to listen to.

Watch it on BBC iPlayer or listen to it on BBC Radio 3 - first half including Leon McCawley (second half - Elgar).

Proms 2009: Prom 8 – 800th Cambridge University Anniversary

“It seems a bit of a bitty programme,” I said to the significant other as I peered over the brochure trying to keep my flour-covered hands away from the pages. 

That’s how it looked on the page. I’m a vanilla kind of Prommer. Give me an overture and a concerto with a symphony to finish off for the second half desert. Start cramming in all sorts of little bits and pieces in to both halves and I start screwing up my nose and scratching the back of my legs with my feet. 

The first half was good. I particularly loved the Vaughan Williams Wasps Overture. The real stars however were – without doubt – the massed choirs of Cambridge University in the second half. 

The Stanford ‘Mag and Nunc’ was gorgeously celebratory but the real eye openers was Jonathan Harvey’s Come, Holy Ghost and Judith Weir brilliantly simple and perfectly executed Ascending into Heaven. Both composers had given the chorus much sought after opportunities to produce different soundscapes. And, given that it was the Cambridge University choirs, the execution of both scores seemed effortless. 

Yes, I’ll hold up my hands and say I didn’t stop to listen to the Saint-Saens Organ Symphony. I’ve heard it a few times already and I didn’t feel the need to listen to it live. Maybe I’ll listen to it tomorrow. Right now, I’m wanting more choral music … a lot more.

Proms 2009: Prom 7 – The Fairy Queen

 

If you’ve come here for a review you are, I’m afraid, going to be disappointed. This in itself is a bizarre way to kick-off given that I don’t believe for a moment anybody would seriously come here for a review.

Let me let you into a little secret about the classical music world (assuming you haven’t worked it out already). People who love classical music and love to impress other people with their love of it pour scorn on those who are flippant about it. To be a lover of it implies an encyclopaedic knowledge of the subject. Not only that, anyone who proposes a review of such a performance must also demonstrate innate objectivity in everything they write.

It is an impossible task. Music is a subjective experience and it’s also primarily an aural experience (assuming it’s not opera which is, of course, a visual experience too).

So, technically speaking, I should be able to write about Purcell’s Fairy Queen without having done any research about it. I should, theoretically be able to draw on my listening experience and combine that with any prior knowledge I may have about the composer, the period he worked in or the work he produced.

Sadly, I can do none of these things. Let me explain why (and I make no apologies if at this point in time you’re thinking you’re not that interested in the reason why).

Given that tonight’s performance at the BBC Proms is fifteen minutes shy of four hours (when you factor in the necessary 20 minute interval), there was no way I was going to make it to the Royal Albert Hall for 6.30pm.

It was around about that time I had finally arrived at a deeper understanding of the problems which had occupied my mind for the majority of my working day. I still can’t account for why the publishing system I’m working on insists on delivering an error message “Bad Gateway” when those people responsible for that gateway consider it to be a very good gateway, but I had come the early evening arrived at a suitably reassuring workaround.

Given the concert had already started by that stage, I suppose I could have caught up on the BBC iPlayer. But there is an excuse I’d like to assuage my first bout of Proms-related guilt this season which I hope you will eventually be sympathetic about.

The Fairy Queen serves up unpleasant memories at the very mention of the work.

Years ago I was responsible for putting on a concert performance of the Fairy Queen by a reasonably good orchestra for a reasonably important promoter. I was charged with the all the usual duties: finding the musicians, persuading the musicians, booking the venue, measuring up the venue for the performance, sourcing the appropriate staging, transporting the appropriate staging (as it happens, using a vehicle which was in no way fit for purpose), marking up the parts, setting up the orchestra chairs and stands, sorting out front of house, ensuring the rehearsal began on time and finished on time (difficult given the earlier transportation difficulties alluded to), putting the orchestra on stage for the concert (made difficult because of the problems already alluded to), packing everything up and then returning to base 100 miles away.

One of the major contributory factors to me having bad feelings about this piece of music was – in part – down to me not liking the idea of it in the first place. Then when I discovered it’s duration, I liked it even less. To then experience a multitude of technical, organisational and inter-personnel problems during the few manic hours before the performance, you’ll begin to understand why I was less than keen to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary in the concert venue after the orchestra, chorus and soloists went on stage.

No surprises then, I quickly retired to the nearby pub for a cool lemonade and an opportunity to plan my long-range escape route.

Things got worse when I returned to base after the concert. Back at my desk at a point in the day when I really hadn’t got the energy nor the stamina to deal with work-related issues which may have come up in my absence, I discovered a small post-it note attached to a clear plastic folder stuffed full of paperwork, both displaying the same characteristic with spidery writing all over it.

Clearly written in haste (and presumably fuelled by a great deal of anger), the note from my boss stated:

“I can’t find my folder about the next concert anywhere. You need to find it. If it’s not back on my desk by 9 tomorrow morning, you’re fired.”

The plastic folder she’d attached it to was exactly the folder she was looking for.

In case you’re wondering I still have the post-it note nearly fifteen years after the event. I do tend to hold on to the negative stuff, you see.

Naturally, I wouldn’t want to put you off the performance given by the Glynebourne Festival Chorus and the Orchestra of the Age Enlightenment. According to one irritatingly pretty PR type it appears I’ve missed people dressed as bunnies simulating sex-acts. Such a shame it was only broadcast on the radio. Still, give it a on the iPlayer catch-up thingamy (second half here). And when you’ve heard, be sure to let me know (if, of course, you’ve got this far and can be bothered).

Proms 2009: Prom 5 – Mahler 9 \ Haitink \ LSO

I didn’t want to be in the arena for tonight’s concert. So much so, I even queued up in vain to mop up any returns there might be at the Royal Albert Hall box office.

I knew it would be a busy affair. @bbcproms had helpfully pointed out during the afternoon just how long the day ticket queue had extended. Panic had set in at that point. If so many people were queuing up for a day ticket, there probably wasn’t going to be very much room to stand and little chance to sit down as and when my calves began to ache.

Acting on impulse and almost certainly breaking the rules (you know where to find me should anyone feel the need to complain), I leapt for the lift, singularly focussed on occupying my own special space on the cold floor up in the Gallery. Things would be OK up there.

There’s space up there, you see. There’s a little more freedom to move around. The high ceilings offer a safe place to think. Minds can wander, fingers can do crochet. The rest of us can lay on the floor staring up at the ceiling.

Unfortunately things didn’t improve immediately, it has to be said. In some respects one might argue things got a little bit worse as I gradually became aware of what exactly was going on in my head.

I had a headache.

My head was awash with all sorts of seemingly important questions: How bad exactly would it be if the pages on the website didn’t validate correctly? What was the point in making all these videos? Was there any point in writing about a prom concert? Who really cared? Even if Charles Hazlewood went down with a heavy cold on Thursday, he’d almost certainly be dosed up on decongestant and if he wasn’t, Suzi Klein would be able to step in to presenting duties anyway. Was I really a deluded narcissist or just a narcissist? Was the latter any better than the former? And why did that man send me a clip of some lady singing “John Jacob Jingelheimer Schmidt” when he really should have been listening to last night’s Handel like I was? What was that about?

And then the harp began to play, ringing out across the Royal Albert Hall. And then the strings joined with a strangely familiar yet unfamiliar chord floating up around in the interior. Suddenly everything inside my head stopped. I hadn’t heard a sound like that since .. the last time. And I couldn’t remember exactly when that was.

I’ve not heard Mahler’s Ninth Symphony. At least I don’t think I have. I didn’t recognise anything in it. In fact, I challenge anyone who sat in the the LSO’s performance to whistle me a tune from the work and then watch a flicker of recognition flash across my face. Maybe I need to listen to it more. Maybe I don’t.

My programme notes were tossed aside shortly after that, destined to fill a space on my shelf along with all the other trophies from last year.

What struck me more than any of the small amounts of reading about the composer’s life I’d completed over the weekend, was just how incredibly tormented the man must have been.

His harmonic writing is one extended and exquisite exercise in tantalising the listener. Just as one chord feels as though it’s been resolved and a new direction proposed, so we taken in an entirely different direction with an additional note played by an instrument in the orchestra we’d totally forgotten about even though we’d heard it only a few seconds ago.

Nothing is certain. Nothing is mapped out. If you’re listening to it for the first time you’ve no idea where Mahler’s going with anything. It’s an overwhelming roller-coaster ride to be experienced in the ridiculously safe environment of a concert hall. But for God’s sake hold on. Don’t get left behind.

There were moments (possibly because of the thoughts careering around my head before the concert began) when I wished for a triumphant ending of the kind Shostakovich can be relied upon to deliver. I wanted trumpets and timpani and an “in your face” conclusion like I know the fly killer spray underneath the kitchen sink guarantees whenever there’s a wasp bouncing off the window. In case you don’t know Mahler 9, no such brash conclusion will come your way.

What I hadn’t anticipated was an adagio movement which delivered far more than I realised I needed. There was still the exhausting harmonic twists and turns but with considerably more promise of an unequivocal ending.

Don’t cut straight to the end. You need to hear everything else before it – ideally in a cathedral like space with low-level lighting and little distraction. Then, when you get to the conclusion you’ll hear as I did a conclusion played out in the strings which went on for ages and could have gone on for a good deal longer too.

And it was an ending which left no one in the auditorium questioning whether the orchestra and their conductor deserved the mammoth applause showered upon them.

Listen to the concert via the BBC’s iPlayer thing. If you’ve missed the 7 day window, shame on you. Mind you, I bet you it’ll be repeated at some point.

Proms 2009: Proms Chamber Music 1 – The Cardinall’s Musick \ Andrew Carwood

King of England from 1509 to 1547, Henry VIII would almost certainly have been someone who would have annoyed me assuming I was around at the time and moved in the circles he did. In addition to being a ruler, Henry VIII was a composer and staunched supporter of culture it seems.

But it’s not this which prompted me to listen to the performance of music from his reign, nor the fact that Henry being born in Greenwich makes him something of a local boy given that I live in Lewisham.

No, it was a simmering sense of guilt that has been gnawing away at me ever since I ignorantly dismissed this lunchtime Proms gig as one of Proms Director Roger Wright’s less fabulous concert ideas. 

Good on him, Roger did give as good as he got and went to great lengths to champion the gig. He wasn’t wrong either.

After a weekend of Haydn and Handel the sound of Andrew Carwood’s vocal ensemble The Cardinal’s Musick was simple, arresting and beautiful even if the sight of the titles in the brochure made the programme look distant and impenetrable.

Even if, unlike me, you’re not pursuing the cleansing effect a collection of voices devoid of vibrato and excessive, seemingly showey-offy melismatic writing of later musical styles, there is something totally engaging about the long sustained vocal lines present in so much of the music in this programme. Such music focuses the mind on the technical demands made of the singer to produce such a distinct soundscape.

Harmonically too it feels as though there’s far more interest and development. The archetypal polyphony taking the listener on all sorts of strange journeys which a lot of the time feels a long way a way from the note we first started on and yet, effortlessly, we arrive back at the start with a definite sense of having heard “interesting stuff” along the way. I’m a rennaissance man, it seems.

Five hundred years on, the work of The Cardinal’s Musick is vital to ensure this musical style is not forgotten. But to what extent does Carwood and others like him feel confident they’ve produced something which is close (if not exact – and surely there’s no way it can be an exact, can it?) to that performed 500 years ago? How do we know how people sang or what sounds they were producing ? It’s something I wish I’d asked him before the concert – shortly after the Roger Wright interview and before this lunchtime gig.

I had originally intended to try and get a day ticket for the Cadogan Hall gig this lunchtime but what with a meeting in the morning and one or two crucial issues to sort out before hand, the likelihood of getting there was becoming increasingly unlikely even if I had got a ticket.

Consequently, I settled myself in a meeting room with a view of the A40 in front of me. The view wasn’t pretty in any way, but the sound of the speakers made for one of the first of many musical surprises this Proms season.

And of course, should you bump into Roger Wright perhaps you’d be good enough to tell him that.

Listen to the first Proms Chamber Music gig here (programme notes here eventually) and when you do, keep an ear out for Henry VIII’s opening number Pastyme with good companye (he could definitely write thumping tune), the Taverner Christe Jesu (if you’re a bass try singing along to the line without the music – it’s impossible – this line goes all over the place) and the Tallis Sancte Deus if you listen to nothing else.

Proms 2009: Prom 4 – Partenope \ Handel \ Concerto Copenhagen

LISTEN (ONE)

LISTEN (TWO)

I’m far from qualified to provide a considered and detailed review of the concert performance of Handel’s late opera Partenope given by Concerto Copenhagen and a variety of international soloists including German counter-tenor and (I understand) charming dish Andreas Scholl (left or above depending on how big the screen you’re viewing this on is).

Handel’s music just fails to do it for me, you see. Tell me I’m going to a concert of Handel’s music and my mind will leap to the oft played, tiresome cliche that is the Hallelujah chorus. That one piece of music exploited to underpin any visual joke and included on any “best of” CD or top 100 favourites of all time playlist is guaranteed to bring me out in hives. 

I’d said as much – perhaps a little too bluntly – to Proms Director Roger Wright when he and I met up a few weeks before the launch of the Proms season this year. I dismissed Handel’s music as boring. I did get into quite a lot of trouble because of that. People sneered. People crossed the other side of the street to avoid me. Charles Hazlewood looked the other way when I walked past him outside the BBC’s White City building in West London. How dare I diss the sacred Handel’s music. What was I thinking? 

What people have failed to take into account about me is my genuine desire to seek a complete turnaround in opinion. It’s as though I reckon that those things I hate the most will, if I only look hard enough, turn out to yield something breathtakingly beautiful, or at the very least I’ll end up feeling unexpectedly moved by something I formerly thought would be something I wasn’t interested in. That’s what happened with Stockhausen and – after years of convincing myself I was straight – I ended up gay and realising it wasn’t quite as bad a thing as I originally thought. 

So, could the same happen with Handel and his music? Could I – in the year we mark the 250 anniversary of the composer’s death – actually end up appreciating Handel’s music? Or better, could I end up loving it? Could I, in fact, end up going to Roger Wright at the end of the Proms season this year and shaking the gorgeously fluffy man firmly by the hand, whispering in his ear the confession: “You know what Wodge? I actually quite liked it. Programme some more next year, will you?”

If I was looking for a road to Damascus experience I fear it didn’t happen during tonight’s performance. But before you reach for the comment form and bashing out an angry rebuttal on your keyboard do please read the rest of this post. 

At three hours long it was going to be a tough listen. I wasn’t able to get to the Hall on account of a family get together in the rural idyll which exists outside Sevenoaks. It was blustery and rainy but marvellous fun. By the time we’d finished there was only 15 minutes to get home in time for the beginning of the live broadcast let alone get to the Royal Albert Hall. Me and significant other made do with the car radio. 

Don’t get me wrong. It was a polished performance. Even I could work that out. Handel’s music sounded painstakingly precise with an energetic bounce here or a soaring melodic line there. There was no question about the stamina of Concerto Copenhagen who’s unfailing ability to reliable and enthusiastically deliver yet another dance rhythm was impressive. The band were a machine – a musical machine in fact – and despite not being a lover of Handel’s seemingly repetitive orchestrations even I could determine this was a deeply impressive performance. The voices were unexpectedly warm and clear . There was none of the hard-edged, uncompromisingly worthy singing and playing my mind had already concluded I should hear before the performance began. This was a fantastic performance. And I was listening on the radio.

But it’s Handel’s music which leaves me cold. Yes there is a pure kind of beauty in the sound but it is the seemingly never-ending ornamentation which drives me up the wall. Just as the precision of the playing was impressive so too the delicacy in the music can slowly drive me mad. It’s as though that very delicacy brings with it a worthiness which commands respect and devotion of Handel and his art. The weight of history drips from his score and with what seems like nothing but melisma, fugues and untold number of tierce de picardies. It’s not long after setting out with the best intentions to love his music (or at least find what it is which flicks the switch) that the sound all melts into one massive soundscape, all of it underpinned by a harpisichord. 

Still, I did try. If you see Roger Wright do tell him I tried. And I’ll try extra hard at the Tudor music thing tomorrow lunchtime. Promise.

Proms 2009: Prom 2 – Haydn \ The Creation

You may be surprised to learn I studied conducting at University under the tutelage of Professor Denis McCaldin, someone I once understood or (certainly appreciated) to be a leading expert on the composer Haydn until work friend chappy David pointed out that the title was still very much reserved for Robbins Landon.

You probably won’t be surprised to read that I wasn’t terribly good at conducting. This combined with a great many other things I wasn’t good at meant I left University floundering, initially thinking I’d turn my hand to arts administration and (when I’d made a pigs ear of that) later attempting IT support.

When I realised I didn’t actually care whether people’s computers actually worked or not, I ended up pursuing this largely vain (and in vain, I might add) goal of writing and presenting.

Thus you the reader and me (the saddo on a Saturday night writing a blog post when long suffering partner downstairs wonders when I’ll be done at the damn computer) end up here, the night of the performance of Haydn’s Creation at the Proms.

I didn’t fancy going myself – despite it being the second Proms gig in the season. And given the marvellous creation cooling on top of the cooker right now, I’m really rather pleased I didn’t go too.

After all. It was mighty fine on the radio.

Proms 2009: Best listen from home?

It’s only day two of the Proms and I’m reminded of one of a handful of reasons I occasionally feel uncomfortable in the Royal Albert Hall.

Yesterday (the First Night of the Proms) was a mish-mash of experiences. First was the genuine (even if it seemed a little bizarre to everyone else) euphoria of the season starting again. I wasn’t the only one, it seemed. Then there was the sight of strangely familiar faces all greeting one other with the same thing words: “Happy New Year!” There’s the foldable chairs and chilled bottles of wine. Homemade sandwiches and flasks.

The combination of all these familiar sights and sounds made me feel at home. There was a feeling that no time had passed since we all queued up for the Last Night the previous year. I felt part of the special Proms group.

I wasn’t perhaps as in the clique as I might have hoped however. One man was insistent he knew my name already and didn’t need me to introduce myself saying, “You’re Mr You Tube, that’s who you are”. When I protested adding that “No, I think you’ll find my name is Jon” he insisted, “No, it’s Mr YouTube.” I didn’t register a tongue in cheek tone and didn’t recall receiving any compliments either. Draw your own conclusions.

It reminded me of a man the previous year who went to great lengths to explain to me in the Last Night queue why it was he felt the video work I’d done was inapprorpriate. I was a little taken aback. Quite apart from the day to day challenges faced by all of us as we grapple with our insecurities (and yes, we all have them), to be on the receiving end of negativity whilst I was under the influence of one or two glasses of wine wasn’t the nicest of things. Although robust and good-hearted in my response, his words still hurt, there’s no shame in confessing it.

My mother was suitably cavalier about this when I relayed the experience, asking me “you don’t pay for your ticket do you ? You do claim it back on expenses?” I suggested to her that it was extremely unlikely I could justify claiming for a season ticket purely on the basis that I love the Proms season. She reluctantly conceded when I went for the purist’s approach, pointing out that if I were to claim the money back that would change the whole experience, I explained to her. I would quite understandably end up taking the ticket for granted. The summer would never be quite the same again if I did that.

And yet, I’m beginning to wonder whether I might have been a little hasty where that’s concerned. Take the following, most recent personal experience.

Yesterday, during the First Night of the Proms, I find myself totally enthralled by the pyrotechnics of the Labeque sisters whose performance of the Poulenc Double Piano Concerto I knew I was looking forward to anyway but which totally swept me off my feet. In light of my habitual blogging practice using a variety of different methods, I suddenly felt inspired to write something. I made a quick assessment, picked up my bag, headed for the crush bar and scribbled down some notes. It’s a diary thing after all. I want to catch the moment for my own posterity’s sake.

Perhaps unfairly, I abandoned the rest of the concert only hearing the remainder of the concert this morning via BBC iPlayer. I was stunned by the relative blandness of Elgar’s composition In the South (something I remember feeling some time ago) and only just engaged with Brahms‘ Alto Symphony when chorus and soloist joined forces in the conclusion in the major key at the end of the piece. When I listened to that in bed this morning one simple thought came into my head: I know it’s deliberately written that way and I know Brahms was trying to get over the news of his love Schumann’s betrothal to someone else, but really, I’ve struggled to remain captivated until the end. I’m fairly certain, I thought, I’d have found it even more difficult if I was standing up in the arena after the spectacle of the Poulenc.
I was going to write that in a follow up but didn’t get around to it. I caught up on a few emails and perused a few cake recipes I was considering trying for a reception I’m going to tomorrow.

Then I read this comment left in response to the Prom 1 posting:

“Those who “dutifully” remained saw the highlight of the evening with the Brahms. What sort of deluded narcissist would consider their unsolicited opinions to be more important than that? I have nothing but pity for anyone so beige as to be titillated by the risible antics of K Lebeque who, as usual, just looked like she would rather have been a rock star.Surely any one of the 5 or 6 thousand people who could be bothered to stay til the end has a more relevant opinion than yours?”

Of course. Pete Lazonby is correct in some respects. I am a total nobody who isn’t paid to voice his opinions nor am I recognised for having especially erudite, well-researched or academic assessments. And surely as he implies, it was a bit of a schoolboy error to pass judgement on a live concert without having heard all of it.

Or was it?

The fact is, that’s it not whether or not I should have remained in the concert hall which bothers me – the Proms offers something for everybody, there are no rules about getting there at the beginning (plenty of people get there late) nor about having to listen in the Hall all the way until the end or listening on the radio. This is a democratic festival (in that it is made accessible to as many people as possible).

I’m even less bothered that my liking the Labeque sisters performance over something I only heard on the radio – even then streamed back via iPlayer.

What disturbs me most is the extent to which a comment like that alienates. Such opinions (in my opinion, albeit unsolicited and almost certainly beige) do reinforce the view of classical music world as stuffy and impenetrable. It’s as though there is a rubriq for attending a concert and if you are to do anything outside of that you can’t call yourself a classical music lover still less write about it. It is very sad. And – unless I’ve misunderstood that opinion and I am happy to concede I may have done – that’s an opinion which may originate from another part of the arena.

And if that’s the case I think I’d really rather listen on the radio if you don’t mind.

Proms 2009: Diary (16)

It’s the First Night of the Proms tonight and the walk up Exhibition Road to the Royal Albert Hall is the most important tradition to follow.

Or you could listen by clicking on this link here

Proms 2009: Back to School

Just in time for the beginning of the Proms 2009 season, here’s an angle on how young people perceive classical music.

Thanks to @tommypearson for his sterling efforts and for all those took part. They were little smashers.

Proms 2009: Diary (15) The Night Before

The night before the First Night of the Proms. I can hardly wait.

For those poor unfortunate souls who rely on text links, click here to listen

Video: Perpetuum Jazzile

Recommended by a friend solely because of the opening sequence in which a choir mimicks a thunderstorm, I only watched this video clip this evening after he reminded me to do so.

His intention was that I concentrated on the rainstorm bit. What I hadn’t anticipated was the overwhelming feelings of euphoria I’d have when the main song kicked in. This is close harmony of the kind any serious amateur or professional choir yearns to sing all the time.

Brilliant. Utterly brilliant.

Proms 2009: Prom 1 – Poulenc \ BBC Symphony \ Labeque

Poulenc Double Concerto  
BBC Symphony Orchestra  
Katia & Marielle Labeque

AUDIO REVIEW | TEXT REVIEW | NOTES

AUDIO REVIEW

Listen to the swift audio review here

TEXT REVIEW

Those of us who queue for hours for the First Night of the Proms (I got to the Royal Albert Hall at 3pm, but I’m at pains to point out there were plenty of others starter out earlier) do so for one simple reason: we yearn for something to sweep us off our feet. Something to wow us. Something to make us clap like mad things.

No disrespect to the BBC Symph for their performance of Stravinsky’s Fireworks (try harder next time Stravinsky – yes, we know it was one of your early works but really, we can handle more than a mere 4 minutes – nor soprano Aylish Tynan whose all too small contribution in Chabrier’s Ode to Musique still managed to confirm in my mind that she’s someone with a mischievous glint in her eye and a voice I could easily fall in love with (assuming I haven’t already). Looking forward to hearing her in the Proms Chamber Music gig on Sunday 30 August at 1.00pm.

Stephen Hough did well too – don’t get me wrong – delivering a valiant performance of Tchaikovsky’s third piano concerto. 

Katia and Marielle Labeque did give me the highpoint with a performance of Poulenc’s Double Piano Concerto.

Was it the sisters shameless enthusiasm or their vibrant red and purple outfits set off with their uncompromising high heels which helped deliver that moment?

Their technical proficiency was undeniable, so too their innate musicality. They looked good on stage and were good on stage. 

It seems a terrible crime to be sat in the crush bar at the Royal Albert Hall writing this while the rest of the audience dutifully sits through the performances of Brahms’ Alto Rhapsody, Elgar’s In the South and Bruckner’s Psalm 150.

If I promise to listen on the radio or watch it in HD when I get home, do you suppose the soloists, chorus, orchestra and conductor Jiri Belohlavek (not to mention Proms Director Roger Wright and Radio 3 Interactive Editor Roland Taylor) will forgive me? I do hope so. If they don’t, they have my mobile number. 

NOTES

Katia and Marielle Labeque play the piano. Yes they do.

Shortly after I came out, a disingenuous lesbian acquaintance of mine once took me to one side and informed me of the world as she saw it: lesbians and gay men don’t mix – don’t try.

She’s wrong of course. Wrong because gay men never make sweeping statements like that and so, neither should she. Wrong because she shouldn’t speak on behalf of all lesbians – as far as I understand plenty if not all are capable of speaking for themselves. And also wrong because there are plenty of examples to the contrary.

There’s no time to list the many examples, only the most pertinent.

Composer Francis Poulenc – himself a homosexual and not a particularly happy one – was at one stage in his composing life to benefit from the patronage of Princess Edmond de Polignac (Wianaretta Singer, heir to the sewing machine empire Singer). A lesbian herself, Singer was reported to have made it clear in hysterical terms to her then husband that consummating her marriage was not something high on her list of priorities. But once her marriage was annulled she took the money and poured into the arts. Good on her.

One such beneficiary was Poulenc who, commissioned in 1932, came up with the Double Piano Concerto which features in the First Night of the Proms.

I’ve cheated and taken a listen to it before the gig – in part because I literally can’t wait for the first night and also because I’m painfully aware I ought in part to sound reasonably knowledgeable about the subject material.

The First Night of the Proms is always the curtain raiser, with a usually “bitty” programme intended to welcome the passer-by into the fold and provide a taster for what’s coming up.

Whilst there’s no bone rattling awe-inspiring work like last year’s Strauss’ Festival Prelude to blow away the cobwebs during Friday’s first night, the high point of the evening will undoubtedly be the Labeque sister’s performance of Poulenc’s Double Concerto for piano. If it’s anything like their recent recording of the concerto, their performance should be a brilliant display.

Whilst @bbcproms has described rehearsals of the work akin to the smell of fresh paint (maybe there’s been some remedial work done on the interior at the Royal Albert Hall, who knows), there’s no doubt the concerto is a classic illustration of a composer writing to appeal to as wide an audience as possible in as short amount of time possible. There’s a sniff of a murder mystery in the opening movement the moment the pianists pound the keyboard in the opening bars. That murder mystery might as well be played out on a train what with all the chuntering in the piano line. Gripping and shamelessly entertaining.

The rest of the work is typically pastiche-like putting in the same stable as Benjamin Britten’s brilliant and sadly single piano concerto written ten years before. Whilst it might be unfair (and utterly pointless) to compare the two works, Poulenc’s effort may well have the edge for reasons I can’t quite put my finger on at the moment. I’m in no doubt however that having said this people will almost certainly be up in arms for making such a preposterous remark without due reverence to supporting evidence.

The rest of the programme – Tchaikovsky’s 3rd piano concerto, Stravinsky’s Firework piece (a fittingly 4 minutes of twinkling orchestration to open the programme) and Bruckner’s Psalm 150 will be big and broad and all encompassing. The perfect opener to seven weeks of pure indulgence.

Proms 2009: Diary (12 & 13)

I receive an email on a Monday night and it puts me into a bit of spin

The day after the email and only a few hours after the resulting telephone call. Would it be bad news?

TV: Torchwood – Children of Earth \ BBC

Some years ago – back when I thought the path to a glittering career in broadcasting could be followed by producing a weekly, highly amateurish and largely rambling podcast – I bid for an interview with Doctor Who head-honcho Russell T Davies and his executive producing associate Julie Gardner.

How could they resist, I thought to myself. Here I am. A smashing chap, desperate to make his way in the broadcasting world, equally desperate to break into the BBC, possessing an unfailing ability to spot exactly when a spot of ego massage is both timely and pragmatic. One hand washes the other, I thought. I’ll interview them on my little podcast and then people will go, “Oooooooh.”

Not so. Not only was Julie Gardner and Russell T Davies less than keen to be interviewed by a nobody like me, the thought of a podcast about the much-anticipated launch of Doctor Who spin-off Torchwood was something they were even less enthusiastic about.

One or two people with potentially important broadcasting links took me to one side in the kitchen at work. “Whatever you’re planning on doing, take my advice and don’t. It’s not a good idea.” “But I like Doctor Who and I’m looking forward to Torchwood. It’s like Doctor Who but for me .. for a 30 something desperate to rekindle the fear he experienced in his spotty youth.”

“Forget it. Pick something else. Do something about that smoothie company in Shepherd’s Bush.”

I responded in typically adult and considered fashion, putting my first season DVD set of Doctor Who on eBay and channelling all my bitterness and resentment into a personal scathing assessment of the first episode of Torchwood. I recall no more from the first episode of the series than seemingly never-ending shots of an SUV (nobody calls it an SUV for God’s sake – it’s a four-by-four) and being unable to find an answer to the very simple question: “Why is this damn rift in Cardiff exactly?”

I didn’t watch past the first episode, told the person who advised me about the podcast the same and from then on fostered an unreasonably and unjustifiably mean dislike of John Barrowman with his white teeth, layers of make-up and tiresome attempt at hero-running in a trench coat. (Avoid the puddles man! Just because you think you’re a hero, doesn’t mean you should run through puddles. Think of your appearance.)

I didn’t listen to the Torchwood play on Radio 4 last year on the CERN day that never was nor did I commit to any more than the first 12 minutes of last week’s play entitled Asylum. I failed to catch up on the rest on the BBC’s iPlayeritAgain thing.

But .. I did resolve to watching Torchwood: Children of Earth which ran Monday to Friday last week Would I enjoy it? Would I still hate it?

Those dark feelings from nearly three years ago may well have hung around during the first episode.

I was skeptical about Peter Capaldi (has he now reached the point in his career when he’s rolled out to do everything high profile?), occasionally irritated by naff rock music intended to ramp up the tension and in the days following London’s Pride March I remained utterly unconvinced that a permanently non-aging alien-fighting hero’s on-screen romance was convincing or necessary.

Clearly demonstrating that I had come a long way in a few short years, I did however embrace the unexpectedly positive thoughts I had about the first episode. The story had pace; it felt like there was time to expand on things in this five day story; there wasn’t too much gratuitous running around; and it did look utterly fantastic (especially the helicopter shots of London government) in High Definition. It might even be a reason to go out and get HD if you haven’t already.

To pour over the detail of each and every episode would be pointless, difficult and almost certainly ring alarm bells in various people’s offices.

However, there was one point when I had what might be described as a mild, low-key road to Damascus experience.

Quite apart from the scene in which Captain Jack really is being punished (this was the first piece of horror inflicted on the character in which I genuinely felt villified), there was one scene in which the government of the day is forced to decide how to select the sacrificial lambs for the gruesome slimey thing with the insatiable appetite in the greenhouse downstairs. Within a space of a few seconds, the full horror of this ridiculous dilemma flicked the appropriate switches. Writers and producers clicked their fingers and stared into the eyes of the audience: what criteria would you use to feed that hideous thing downstairs?

As any sneery, childish old-school wanton Doctor Who fan will tell you, that scene was the kind of moment we all yearn for. It’s the moment when us fans are transported from the mere entertainment daubed all over the screen to a thought provoking place. Instead of physical motion on the screen, there was an emotional depth delivered quite unexpectedly.

The idea was plausible, one presented on screen without a single chance of a sneer interrupting the flow. The idea was planted in the mind of the audience who were in a split second left to think through the implications. It was showing not telling. It was kick-starting the imagination. It was classic “Who” (even if this was only a “Who” spin-off). It was a Genesis of the Daleks moment.

It was a moment which quite simply a prelude to some quite simply executed yet fundamentally dark and disturbing scenes in which vulnerability plays a very big part and the viewer is furtively wiping a tear from the eye.

It was a corker.

Do I regret the reaction I had to the first series? Could I in fact return to it having seen how good this five-parter was and drastically reassess the rest?

The answer to that is no. I may be self-deprecating and I may be quite open to change, but there are limits. The grauitous shot of John Barrowman’s backside at the beginning of one episode was a step too far no matter how good the fourth episode was.

Oh .. and in case you’re wondering, I didn’t find a buyer for the DVD set of the first series of Doctor Who. Any interested parties, please do not hesitate to get in touch.

Torchwood: Children of Earth is available via Amazon. Go on. Buy it.

Proms 2009: Diary (10)

I can’t believe it’s the tenth Boo. Neither can I believe it’s just over a week before the beginning of the Proms. There’s much video editing to do before then. I’m seriously doubting I’ll get it all done before then.

There is however one very important video which has to be completed and delivered by Monday and it’s the one (fortunately) I’m working on at the moment.

Listen to the Boo here or click on the friendly and suitably stylish looking play button below.

TV: You Have Been Watching \ Charlie Brooker \ Channel 4

Charlie Brooker, host of new Channel 4 panel show You Have Been Watching, is a victim of his own success.

Having preached to a formerly disatisfied audience, Brooker has converted the cynics to his way of thinking. Now that same audience sit and watch him do something different from his usual output and provide the same armchair criticism he did in his Screenwipe shows.

Those programmes were pure Brooker. Half an hour of uninterrupted critical assessment of various aspects of television output. If there was an issue in the media, Brooker could be relied upon to provide an accurate summation of that issue and deliver an everyday angle on it, cutting out the crap with his viciously scathing humour.

In doing so, he succeeded in pointing out exactly what it was we the audience were thinking about any given media-related subject, even if we didn’t realise where we stood on it.

And in doing that Brooker became our mate. Brooker became a badge of honour. He led an army. We followed him unconditionally. He was someone who didn’t need to be offered a drink at the bar because there were plenty of fans already queuing up to purchase one already.

In You Have Been Watching, Brooker takes the same jaw-droppingly awful sequences from popular TV shows including the BBC’s The One Show and a stunningly disgusting segment from ill-thought out and deeply disturbing “factual” entertainment show Deadliest Warriors. Instead of satisfying ourselves with Brooker’s take on a show offered in his usually biting voice-over, the host also welcomed the opinions of his three panellists.

Those three panellists were Rufus Hound (someone I only really recognise from the Dave posters on the Underground advertising another panel show he was in but whom I feel I know sufficiently well to want slap every time I saw his face on the screen), Richard Herring (someone I did know but whose similarly smug face made it look as though he couldn’t believe his luck he was back on TV and thus, I wanted to punch him too) and Jamelia (who’s chest didn’t shake when she laughed thus confirming her role as the dizzy female pundit constantly playing catch up with the wittier panellists who surely must have missed their taxi to the studio). All of them took up position in a ridiculously oversized studio with bright colours and a perfect audience. The picture was complete. This was Telly Addicts for the 21st Century.

Of course, Brooker’s expertise could well be at work here. Maybe the whole thing was ironic. Maybe the gag was that he was taking the piss out of formats. What better way to cock-a-hoop at the industry but by treating his ascerbic wit the same way and seeing if it worked.

Personally speaking, I don’t think it did. Brooker looked mainstream. He’d moved from being behind the bikesheds pouring scorn on the other kids there with him desperate to find a working lighter for their cigarettes, and now seemed to be standing at the front of the class delivering the lesson in a slightly self-consciously wacky style.

Brooker is best when he’s on his own. I want to see him being grouchy in what purports to his own flat. I want his opinion, not anyone elses. I don’t want to see people attempting to be funny with him and neither do I want to see him try and make an audience laugh.

What he’s incredibly skilled at is writing scripts which don’t rely on the interaction of others. When he voices them or they’re printed in the Guardian they’re pure Brooker and that’s what those of us in the media industry who occasionally quake with fear need to reset us from time to time.