Miranda recommissioned

“I like it because it’s old school,” said Debbie the Shiatsu therapist who worked hard to iron out the neck pains I’d acquired in the run up to *that website launch*. “Miranda is funny. Miranda Hart is funny. It’s gentle and charming. The whole family watches it together.”

I sighed relief, in part as a result of the aches and pains eeking out of my body and also because it was a relief to hear someone else thinking the same as me.

“She seems to be able to execute the falling down joke very well without it ever getting tired,” I said, ”Her stooge is funny and obviously brilliant. And the episode when she went on holiday in a hotel down the road .. that’s the kind of thing I’d entertain doing.”

There is undoubtedly a simplicity about the comedy, something which is immediately and engagingly refreshing. Whilst it appears simple and low-key, Hart’s frequent looks to camera must make filming each episode really quite demanding.

It is marvellous to hear of the series being recommissioned. Not only because the cast are good, the writing’s good and at least one member of the cast is easy on the eye, but because something fundamentally good has been brought back. Now the writers need to work their magic and come up with something as good, if not better. I’d hate to be blogging how my favourite thing on TV hit the rails in the second series. I’d be so embarrassed.

If you’re really lucky …

I’ve had a rotten day.

It began with me waking from a nightmare during which I appeared to admit leaving a kitchen knife in the liver of Suffolk pal Clare. Yanky pal Clyde seemed supportive when I justified my actions during the nightmare, but still I woke feeling unnerved.

Then I got a call from my mother asking me to confirm my Santa List.

Then I read this story on the Guardian website. As daily to-do lists go, this reminder was as inevitable as it was unpleasant.

Website launch days should – in theory – be a straightforward affair. There’s hardly anything which can go wrong after all. And nor should there be given that the actual process of launching was carried long before this morning.

Even so, there’s always a small but intense amount of interaction which has to be endured during a press launch. It’s just one of those things, I thought to myself around about a quarter of the way through the day which just so happened to coiincide with my recollection of the last relatively high-profile website launch I was involved in then. I recall suffering from intolerable neck and lower back pain then just as I do this evening.

Daylight passed approximately five hours after the plumber finished his necessary maintenance. The house was toasty warm all day long, something the cats appreciated. By evening, a day of frantic emails, firefighting and various investigations had just about finished me off. Yes, website launches may not necessarily seem like a lot of work but they are exhausting.

That’s why today – the launch of the BBC’s College of Journalism website – will forever be intertwined with the production of me and the Significant Other’s Christmas cards for 2009. Printing, folding, sticking and trimming provided exactly the kind of therapeutic escapism I didn’t realise I needed.

Forty-three cards now sit on the pastry table in the kitchen waiting to be posted. I’m not even sure whether people really care to receive a Christmas card now. Maybe it’s a wasted process. Maybe it’s just emails and tweets, instant messages or Skype calls.

No matter. What’s important right now is the three hours escape I’ve had doing something as fundamentally dull yet pleasurable as making Christmas cards. It provided the time to unwind, an opportunity to remind myself of what else was going on in the world.

The picture was taken by Flickr User AceDiscovery (follow the irritatingly talented Adrian Murphy on Twitter here) and is used under the Creative Commons License which in turn included a payment to the Terrence Higgins Trust.

And if you’re really lucky, you might be one of the forty-three recipients. If you’re not you’ll receive cordial seasonal greetings. And if you don’t you can be assured you’re not one of those special people. And if you’re one of those, you’re listed in my special black book.

Yes. That’s right.

TV: Graham Norton Show / Episode 6.10 / Mon 7 Dec 2009

Nobody reads blogs. Nobody gives a damn. There’s no point in spending time committing your thoughts to a blog no-one reads directly after watching a TV programme you’ve enjoyed. Everyone tweeting about it anyway. At least that’s what they appear to be doing during the #grahamnortonshow.

Twitter activity does appear to have crept up on me where the #grahamnortonshow is concerned. It’s weird seeing other people on the internet commenting on what feels like my own special corner of TV (yes, I know that’s *totally* self-obsessed – I’m just being honest). Sometimes I watch stuff going on on TV and that going on on Twitter and doubt the integrity of the latter. I’m sure I’m borderline paranoid.

Tonight’s #grahamnortonshow was another corker. Such a corker in fact, I’m reminded how I started this post. I found myself enjoying myself and, in the process of enjoying myself, thinking ‘this is what I expect and what I’m used to now’. Which, in turn, makes me wonder what the point of blogging such a banal point. After all, who really gives a damn if something is good, especially when it’s edging towards being consistently good?

Catherine Tate and Jimmy Carr joined rapper 50 Cents and a handful of low expectations on Graham’s red sofa this evening. I couldn’t care less, I thought when Norton introduced them. Yet, hearing Norton guide the rapper through the unexpectedly incredible story of the latter’s upbringing I was suddenly aware of quite how long I hadn’t laughed. Not only was it an jaw-droppingly sad catalogue of sad events 50 Cent had suffered but Norton appeared to be conducting a serious interview. It’s almost like he’d grown up.

Nice. Well done him. He’s a smasher.

Watch Episode 10 from Series 6 of the Graham Norton Show. No really. Go on.

Journalism 101: The Journalist’s DNA

What journalistic values did Rory Cellan-Jones have to bear in mind when he wrote a blog analysing Google’s move to implement restricted access to news stories earlier this week?

TV and radio journalists recommend planning a news package or documentary. Where budgets are involved and teams of people required, so schedules, shape, story arcs and goals are vital to delivering the end product in time for broadcast. How can you tell a story if you don’t know where you’re going?

That’s what they say. But surely planning out the question and answer so rigorously beforehand removes some of the joy from the process? Doesn’t that make the process of interviewing something of a cold and lifeless affair?

I’d tested out my ”killer” question on a handful of other journalists before I met up with Rory, this in part because I wanted things to be watertight before I entered the Business and Economics Unit in Television Centre.   

But having tested it out, I realised I knew the answer already about the difficulties facing a BBC journalist when writing a blog entry about an online competitor.

Merely asking the question around other journalists made the answer obvious: A BBC journalist has to maintain impartiality. That’s the obvious difficulty when writing about online competitors. And it’s obvious not only because it’s one of those ingrained BBC values. It’s also one of the major sections of the College of Journalism website.

Still, as hoped, Mr Cellan-Jones did present his tasty soundbite in an interesting way. “It’s in the DNA,” he says in the video interview.

I responded with, “So it’s just experience then?” although at the time I was wondering where I might find a shortcut to acquiring that DNA.

Impartiality feels like a scary value, one open to interpretation and demanding vigorous debate from time to time. It feels like a value with no hard and fast or right and wrong answer. Surely there’s the equivalent to an operating system patch available somewhere, isn’t there?

There maybe an easier route. Personal values must surely offer a firm foundation for understanding impartiality, or at the very least a good place to start. Begin with common sense and bolt the more complex stuff on top of that. That was certainly one way of looking at it when debating whether or not to include the critical feedback I solicited from Rory after the interview was over.

That and getting at least four pairs of eyes to look over it too.

Richard Sambrook leaving the BBC

It’s only now at the end of a busy day doing internetty stuff and then blogging about Finland’s Eurovision multiplatform thing, I realise my tweet at the beginning of the day about the BBC’s Director of Global News Richard Sambrook’s departure may have been interpreted by Bill Thompson in a slightly negative light. Certainly when I read his retweet I do wince a little. It reads like I’m rubbing my hands together with glee.

I’m not of course. And no, before you think it, I’m not backpedalling either.

As it happens, Mr Sambrook’s departure hit me (and a handful of others around me at work) a little hard.

“Richard Sambrook’s LEAVING?” said one colleague incredulously, “Is that a joke?”

It did seem a little odd. It seemed wrong to say out loud too. It was almost like informing a classroom full of kindergarten attendees that Santa wasn’t real and their parents were liars. You just wouldn’t say it. Even if it’s true.

Now I come to write this, I’m reminded of one thought I had earlier on today about the whole thing. Various comments I’d seen on Twitter and messages posted on Facebook made it seem as though Mr Sambrook had died. Obviously this isn’t the case – @sambrook was observed on the tube train home from Television Centre this evening – but it does illustrate something which has gone overlooked as far as I’m concerned: that’s to what extent us BBC bunch forget we live in a special “hive”. When one of the hive is set to leave, it’s little wonder those of us more sensitive types feel a little sad. I haven’t felt this way since a lady who used to work in the newsagent shop my mum used to run announced she was leaving because she was pregnant. I was gutted. I communicated my irritation too. I was nine years old at the time.

The reality is that I have spent no more an accumulated thirty minutes in the company of Richard Sambrook. I don’t claim to know him at all. And yet, there’s a connection.

I’m nothing special, in that I’m not the only one. There are plenty of others who feel the same way. I’m just shameless in being blatant about it.

He somehow seems to represent the kind of BBC I wanted to work for, the Corporation I find myself a part of and the place I hope will nurture the same kind of people. It needs to. An organisation as brilliant to work for as the BBC (yes, I realise I’m biassed) needs people like him otherwise it’s going to get a bit up itself, assuming you don’t think it’s up itself already. Senior people comfortable to connect with the ground-troops. That’s what’s important, vital in fact.

A man in touch with reality. Yeah, we’re pleased for you Mr Sambrook. We’re kind of pleased for your future employers and we wish you luck in your future projects, naturally. But like Tom Baker’s departure from Doctor Who, we just hoped it might have been longer.

And no. I’m not backpedalling. And I’m not licking wotnot either.

He said what?

You know when an editor is happy with the product, when he starts blogging about a password-protected website and namechecking one of the people involved in its production.

The BBC’s new College of Journalism website will soon be public and when it is a year of my life (and a handful more years of others) will draw to a close.

Like editor Kevin says in his blog post, the site is primarily written for BBC journalists outside of their usual BBC environment although it’s becoming increasingly clear as we tour around the country with our various events that the 2,500 pages of content will also appeal to those aspiring to be journalists too. That’s gratifying. Especially given our lengthy meetings about what to put where on the site.

It’s an exciting time. No really, it is.

Journalism 101: What is journalism exactly?

Typical me. I naiively trot and skip and bounce along to the Reuter / Amplified 09’s unconference about Twitter and whether it can save the world or not and spectacularly miss the point.

I went along because they were discussing what the impact of Twitter is or will be or has been on the future of news.

News, I think. That’s journalism. There’s something to report there. I could shoot some video. I could tweet stuff. I could meet other people. I might get some ideas. I must go along.

At least that’s what I was thinking in my pseudo-journalistic brain last week when I booked my ticket. Then I posted a discussion post on the BBC’s College of Journalism networking thing (you’ll need to be a) a BBC journalist and b) working in the College of Journalism to get into that particular club – it’s very select, you won’t get in the back door) and my brain starts filling up with something else.

I’d moaned about a particular news story I’d seen on the internet and in so doing posed the question that there was a serious risk to journalistic values (ie make sure there’s an actual story there to report when you put your news story together) if headlines are written to optimise traffic. In other words, if you write your headlines to grab attention but the pay-off is there’s hardly anything there of substance, isn’t there a seriously negative impact to your audience?

I’d qualified all of this in my discussion post on the CoJo network by saying I was probably being unfairly critical, something I reckoned came easy given that I’d missed the journalist-boat a number of years ago and – frankly – even if I was given a chance to work in a newsroom I probably wouldn’t survive anyway. I’d probably stand in the corner crying into a hanky with some old-hack coming up to me and whispering in my ear how “it’s probably best you run along now Jacob – don’t think you can play with the big boys anymore”

Self-deprecating as the dismissal of how I reckoned I’d be working in a newsroom, the comment did reveal something I’d overlooked. For years now I’ve accomodated a stereotypical view of what kind of a person a journalist is, possibly as a way of explaining to myself why I wouldn’t have been any good at it anyway. It’s almost as though the dismissal of the profession using a stereotypical view was a way of making the disappointment I hadn’t followed up that teenage career aspiration seem less painful.

It was that which prompted me to ignore the main discussion point set by the BBC’s Director of Global News Richard Sambrook at the Reuters unconference. I did try discussing whether or not Twitter could curate journalism or merely fuel with @reutersjeremygaunt and @mrsbunz amongst others but instead wanted a few important questions answered instead: What is a journalist? What is journalism? And what sort of person do you have to be in order to be one?

The resulting piece isn’t want you’d call far-reaching journalism but it does answer the questions for me. Pursuing my original career aspirations doesn’t seem like such an impossible task really.

TV: Graham Norton Show (Episode 6.6 Mon 9 Nov 2009)

Shameless self-promotion, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

Either I’m consistently wasted on cheap wine, or Mr Norton’s show is proving a reliable source of entertainment. I’m veering towards the latter but am prepared to concede the former in the event of having to sit through a duff episode in the next few weeks.

Tonight, beau-of-the-ball and soon to be ex-Time Lord David Tennant carried out what must now feel like tiresome process of winding up the contract he’s been in for the past few years by promoting a TV series he’s soon no longer to star in. The beginning of the end – the story is entitled The Waters of Mars – airs on BBC One on Sunday 15 November.

He was joined by an arrestingly honest Johnny Vegas and the strangely alluring Alison Moyet and equally gorgeous complexion and best-of album.

A giggle from beginning to end. Marvellous work.

• Watch Episode 6.6 of The Graham Norton Show via BBC iPlayer

On listening to the Moral Maze

Me and the Significant Other often take the mickey when we hear Michael Buerk deliver his opener to Radio 4’s Moral Maze. Our minds rush back to 999 on BBC One years ago. All that drama. All those emergencies. All that weight in Michael Buerk’s voice. We do rather laugh.

That’s mean I know. I shouldn’t really. It’s not fair on Michael Buerk who is a journalist and a broadcaster and someone from my youth. Someone I remember watching on television during snowy days when I was stranded at home revising for my GCSEs and wondering how many more days I’d have to myself getting my chemistry revision notes just up to scratch.

In writing that I’m reminded of one of the key tensions I feel writing a blog about the place I love, the things I watch on television and listen on the radio served up by the place I love and splashing around on the internet as I’ve become accustomed to in recent years.

I’m constantly wondering whether it’s really on to comment on BBC stuff when I watch it and I work there. Might there be someone out there who misconstrues what I say? Might there be someone within the organisation who takes umbrage at my comments and says “That man Jacob. He needs getting rid of”.

It’s the same with Twitter.

Yes, I know Twitter is a tiresome term. Everyone rolls their eyes when it’s talked about. I roll my eyes when I talk about it.

They were talking about Twitter on the Moral Maze this evening. I only knew that because someone outside the BBC (@abigailH) told me about it. She told me on Twitter.

You’d think I’d have known about it solely because I work at the BBC. The fact is I didn’t. I spent the day trying to get a problem fixed with a quiz on a website which frankly (had I documented the problem earlier when it occurred earlier in the year) I could have got done quicker.

So I sit down. I listen to the panelists discuss the rights and the wrongs of the social networking phenomenon. Inevitably I engage in a conversation online, using Twitter as I listen. As I do so, I’m struck by how invigorating the experience really is.

Significant Other is sat in the bath upstairs listening too. “Are you listening to this?” he asks,  ”It’s really interesting.”

I nod and snatch a gulp of red wine. I shy away from confessing I’m feeling a little looked down upon by the panelists. I carry on tweeting, conscious as I do so the editor of the @radio4blog is tweeting about the live broadcast as I indulge in reacting to what’s going on.

When the programme is over I shuffle to the lounge with my half drunk glass of wine and sigh. Significant Other looks at me gives me a withering look. I know what he’s thinking. I know exactly what he’s thinking. He was thinking the same when Norway won the Eurovision.

“Worrying you’ve overstepped the mark? Said too much? Upset the powers that be?”

Yes. Yes he’s right.

And therein lies the danger with publishing your thoughts on the internet. There’ll almost certainly be someone who could interpret what you say and use it as a weapon.

Which is why anyone who uses Twitter (or anything else on the internet for that matter) should remember one very important thing: speak from the heart. At the moment of writing whatever you’re thinking of feeling must be justifiable by you and you alone. If you can do that, you’ll be fine.

• Listen to the Moral Maze via the BBC Radio 4 website.

Electric Proms 2009 / Robbie Williams

I missed the live broadcast of Robbie Williams’ Electric Proms gig. I heard about it though. People were raving about it to me whilst I was at Radio 3’s Free Thinking Festival last weekend.

I must watch it, I thought. So I watched it online switching from the full screen version on my laptop to follow the set list (and avoid Scott Mills’ face – his appearance in both Attitude Magazine and Gay Times this month means the cutesy Radio 1 DJ may be in danger of jumping the shark if he’s not careful).

It was nice to see Williams back. It was nice too to hear songs given a thorough orchestration by producer Trevor Horn. The strings sounded iffy in places but the sound of a timpani underpinning some dramatic moments in various tracks made for a nice effect combined with the interestingly satisfying interior of The Roundhouse packed full of screaming girls. (I tried to overlook the appearance of James Corden and Dec from Ant and Dec fame.)

But there is a fly in the ointment I thought. I’m sure there’s a few places where Robbie’s not necessarily delivering 100% on the intonation front. There are moments, I’m sure of it, when the cheeky chappy whose swagger can be just a bit too much at times just can’t reach those top notes. Maybe it’s me being overcritical, I thought. Maybe I should give the boy I was once obsessed with (didn’t you see the Rock DJ video?) a second chance.

BBC HD re-ran the concert last night. Me and The Significant Other watched it this afternoon.

I can confirm that I wasn’t wrong. There are many times when Robbie illustrates to what extent he needs to work on his live performance. I was surprised to see him reading from his autocue, amazed to observe he had the obligatory ear-piece in just one ear. And yet at various points it was clear the massive orchestra behind him and the track played into his ear wasn’t helping. I grimaced a number of times. I’m sorry Mr Williams but I did. You need to work on this.

What’s infinitely more frustrating is the reviews from the mainstream press about the concert (Independent, Times Online, The Guardian). Not one other person picks up on the intonation troubles Williams suffered. It’s as though there’s a different quality threshold rehabilitated popstars must reach in order to get four out of five stars. It’s as though we’re happy to overlook that. It’s as though they were all given a free ticket, access to the VIP area and plenty of booze for the night. That does so make my blood boil.

Why is this important? Possibly because Williams has a story and, as a result, a place in our hearts. He did great stuff and we want him to do great stuff again. Perhaps we want him to acquire that much-desired ‘national treasure’ status. I do. He fits the bill. You’ve just got to turn in a consistently high standard of performance Robbie. I’m stickler for perfection.

>> Watch the live performance of Robbie Williams’ concert at the BBC Electric Proms

Journalists are human beings too

My two week jaunt around the country is coming to an end. I’m relieved. I’m getting tired of the hotel experience (although the central Belfast Holiday Inn more than makes up for the prison-like interior of Newcastle’s riverside Travelodge). I’m keen to see my cats and I’m longing to see the garden from the kitchen window. I’m a sucker for home-life.

Hotels aside, it’s not all been bad. My brief has been simple: to cover as much of a series of events titled “New Tools for a New Way of Working” in a social media capacity for the new BBC College of Journalism website (currently beta for BBC staff).

CoJo (get used to the BBC College of Journalism acronym) has filmed a few of the specifically journalism related events in Cardiff including a presentation given by Executive Editor Kevin Marsh on how audiences are sourcing their own background information on a given subject following a news “announcements”. It’s changing the nature of news consumption and necessarily what methods journalists employ to tell their stories.

Former Assistant Editor of the BBC Six O’Clock News Mark Georgiou also made a repeat appearance at BBC Northern Ireland today, sharing his thoughts on producing news stories for a variety of multiplatforms. Memory is fading of the time when a producer and his reporter could film one piece about one story for one news programme. Now they have to be across the whole thing.

Some do it better than others, it has to be said. Some people take to writing blog entries and web stories and look for new ways to share their stories online, on radio and on TV. Georgiou offered practical tips on how to meet the challenge some producers may face when embracing multi-platform production.

It is during events like this I find myself impatient and unforgiving. I subscribe completely to the need to produce the same story in a variety of different ways for a variety of different outlets be it radio, TV or the web. My style may need finessing in some areas and skills might need to be acquired but still I’m surprised and frustrated such an event is even deemed necessary.

This may be in a small part down to the realisation I made a few years of my original career aspirations when I approached the end of my GCSEs 20 years ago. If I wanted to be a journalist, I’d obviously need English, which in turn meant an English degree. A-Level studies were fine. One term at University however and I soon discovered I wasn’t going to be able to meet the one book a week requirement demanded of me. I switched courses soon after and stupidly dropped my journalism aspiration too. A career in music administration, IT support and website management followed.

It’s only now I find myself in the journalism world I once thought I’d want to be a part of, even if I’m not actually – in the strictest sense of the word – a journalist. But having embraced the internet and its technologies (whilst steadfastly maintaining a healthy distance from any accusations of geekdom) and insodoing finding an outlet for my creative juices, I’m surprised there might be those who find the web platform a bewildering affair.

In short, I work on the basis ‘if I get it, it really can’t be that difficult, so why can’t you?’ Of course, such a view is blinkered and unforgiving, but it is the truth, one no doubt fuelled by a spark in my head that maybe at some point I might just end up doing what I thought I’d wanted to do 20 years ago. Who knows.

My lack of patience for those who perhaps need a bit more time to become accustomed with new ways of sharing stories is tempered by the experience of BBC Wales Political Editor with the Welsh Politics blog she writes on the BBC. This is no small part because she’s a pleasure to talk to and (as you would expect from someone used to delivering 2 minutes on tv or radio) and an effortless interview. During her New Tools presentation in Cardiff last week she said “I have become accustomed to it [blogging]. It’s not my enemy now.”

So as I approach the end of our two weeks away from the London CoJo office, I’m reminded of the blinkered and unforgiving view I have of journalists and the kind of people they are. They aren’t all one kind of person and they’re not necessarily anything like me. No surprises there. If only I could remember that the next time I sense that frustration rising up like bile inside of me.

Beware the Kids / Drama on 3 / Radio 3

I didn’t get along to anywhere near as many events in Radio 3’s Free Thinking Festival.

Me and video journalist Louise Water were there for the weekend shooting footage for the Radio 3 You Tube channel.

I was probably a little ambitious about the amount of material we could realistically produce during the weekend. We shot a lot and edited a great deal. But there’s still a good 45 minutes of material yet to go through the edit.

With only a few hours to go before the broadcast of some of the weekend’s events goes out on Radio 3 this evening and the memory of our budget hotel passes into the dim recesses of my brain, there’s one piece of work I’m watching back and feeling both relieved and proud of.

The Drama on 3 spot from the Free Thinking Festival is always a special affair. Radio 3’s drama is tough. It’s uncompromising. I could be found crying in the back of the studio when I watched last year’s recording of Tony Marchant’s play about abortion.

This year’s play entitled Beware the Kids was equally demanding on the senses when I watched the recording last night. Five monologues from characters in a fictional child abuse case isn’t necessarily what you’d first want to sit down and listen to. I may not have cried when I heard this one, but I still found the details in the script deeply disturbing to listen to.

Deeply disturbing isn’t always bad. When deeply disturbing is written and executed brilliantly the audience is taken on a journey, one where the talents of writers, actors and director Kate Rowland cannot be denied. Little wonder there was such a long pause before the audience began their rapturous applause, this appreciation in no small part an acknowledgement of the achievement of recording the entire piece in one go with a couple of retakes. That’s impressive drama from beginning to end.

I knew I was interviewing the writers of the play after the performance. I knew it was going to be a tough job (there’s no room for flippancy in this kind of thing). Thankfully, cameralady Louise was on hand to assist me through the process. The end product (unfortunately I underestimated how dark the location was – there was no time to reshoot) is something I’m reassured about. Flippancy has it’s place.

Listen to Beware the Kids (Drama on 3) as part of Radio 3’s Free Thinking coverage

Nick Griffin on BBC Question Time

If you’ve searched on the internet and hoped for a breakdown of what happened during *that* BBC Question Time with Nick Griffin, you will almost certainly be disappointed. I didn’t watch it as it was broadcast. Instead, I caught up on what happened on Twitter, via some twitter pals and reading accounts provided by The Guardian, The Daily Mail and the BBC website.

A reminder of what felt like the TV event of recent weeks or months was flagged up at the end of a busy few days filming some BBC College of Journalism (CoJo’s launch reported here) events in the leafy setting of the BBC’s Broadcasting House in Cardiff. Attention had been duly focussed on making sure we got the best shots for a series of videos which will with any luck make it onto the College’s learning-rich website when it goes public. It had been a demanding few days. When we all said goodbye at the end of it, it did rather feel like we’d delivered even if there’s some post-production to go through yet.

Being out of London for that relatively extended period of time probably explained the shock we all experienced when we stopped dead in front of the plasma screen outside the studio. There streamed live on the BBC News channel were shots of Television Centre seemingly under siege by protesters registering their disgust at the appearance of BNP leader Nick Griffin on the BBC’s Question Time.

Not for the first time since signing that all important BBC contract, I left Cardiff’s Broadcasting House wondering whether the BBC was a hated institution. Was the BBC wrong for having Griffin on Question Time. Should they have refused him? Were they giving a voice to something fundamentally wrong? Had the BBC and all who worked for it and subscribed to it’s values, followed the wrong path? Was this another nail in the coffin? More importantly, in my pursuit of a dream job with a dream organisation, had I backed the wrong horse?

History will judge that fist full of questions. And, if it doesn’t, I’m not the person to provide an objective view on it. To do that I’d have to be working for someone entirely different, quite possibly in an entirely different field.

Instead, I took solace in the words of the taxi driver who submitted to my line of jovial questioning effortlessly executed during the short journey back to the miserable hotel I’ve been staying in these past few days.

“You’ll have missed Question Time tonight then?” I asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“Oh yes. But I’ve been following it all day.”

“What do you make of it all?” I asked, keen not to make things appear too obvious.

“I don’t agree. I don’t agree with him but we’re about free speech. I don’t like that. I don’t like him having that time. But he had his time. He was voted in. We’re about free speech. He was allowed his time. “

“Do you think the BBC was right to have him on?”

(It was only a six or seven minute journey to the Copthorne Hotel. Time was of the essence.)

“Of course. I trust the BBC. I know what I hear from the BBC is the truth. And if they get it wrong they’ll tell me they’ve got it wrong. I appreciate that.”

What the taxi driver said isn’t important. (Technically speaking I should have provided you with an audio record of the conversation so this blog is fully backed up in terms of evidence. Sadly, the journey – including the 3 minutes spent at the cash machine getting the necessary £10 for the journey home – only amounted to 15 mintues and we spent 5 minutes of that talking about Radio 4.) What’s important to me is the sense of relief I felt when that one individual expressed appreciation of what the BBC does and the values it’s recently demonstrated.

I confessed my allegiance shortly before he pulled on the handbrake outside the front door of the hotel. “I wondered why you were asking,” he said handing me my change, “but don’t misunderstand me whatever you do lovely. I like the BBC. I trust the news I get from it. I don’t like Radio Football – there’s never any mention of the rugby scores from Wales on a Saturday evening and I can’t stand Strictly Come Dancing. But you lot who do the news. You lot get it right mostly. And when you don’t, you usually tell us you haven’t.”

Bless him.

Proms 2009: Prom 76 – Last Night of the Proms

Having got to the end of the Proms season I think I can confidently confirm that I hate the Last Night. Little of what I heard or watched last night prompted me to think otherwise.

I should be clear. I am in no way averse to partying. More importantly, having attended considerably more Prom concerts last year and (perhaps) got myself more emotionally involved in last year’s season I could absolutely see how it was the Last Night was something difficult to avoid. I wanted the ‘full stop’ tradition and frivolity of the final concert. It was as though I owed it to myself.

Last year I had wanted to experience it too. I wanted to (and did) go through the hours of queuing and roll calls. I wanted to get myself a carnation. I wanted to sing triumphantly along to Jerusalem and Land of Hope and Glory. It wasn’t because I was feeling all jingoistic, just that I felt as though I deserved that shameless indulgence in pointless tradition.

This year however, professional responsibilities influenced my decision not to attend in person. I couldn’t justify taking an afternoon off work to start queuing and whilst I know I could have slipped in at the back (and had an invite to the party afterwards) working all day made the prospect of traveling to the Albert Hall considerably less appealing.

We had HD television however with Dolby Digital stereo (when the signal didn’t drop out). The shot would be glorious I thought. I could enjoy from the sofa. We could have some kind of Mediterranean picnic food and a few glasses of wine instead. That would be nice.

Previous years have reminded me that the Last Night is very different from the usual concerts. The music is shorter for a start. No large scale symphonies to blow you away, no hefty concertos to get your teeth into. No ill-conceived commissions to judge. Instead it’s bite-sized renditions with strong melodies and tub-thumping beats. This isn’t mainstream. This is party music.

But as with nearly all parties I attend (and similar to the feelings I had the night of the Ukulele Prom) I couldn’t help watching the screen and feeling a little bit disconnected from the season. I’m not talking physically disconnected from the hall, more that a different crowd was there inside the hall. All the usual television signposts adhered in a usual concert (ironically the ones which nearly always antagonise me anyway) had been discarded in favour of snatched chats between Clive Anderson and his guests in the box. Cameras seemed to swoop all over the hall from every conceivable angle at nearly every conceivable moment (note to self – I should have been a television director).

Costumes were unfeasibly bold and brash, some pieces incongruous. As good as the Vila Lobos piece was, it wasn’t until the final thundering chords belted out by the chorus did it become clear why it had been included – because it would grab attention – and yet the work itself was strange in isolation. What was the point ? Why had Lobos written it? What was the context. Yes, I know I could read the programme notes – they’re on the website – but as a viewing experience it seemed strange not knowing at the time. The problem was there was no time. No time at all. We had to thunder through the programme.

In Alison Balsam’s Haydn Trumpet Concerto I did – I’m sorry to say – hear more split notes than I had expected (although I acknowledge the Last Night is hardly the best solo giving experience) and I’m almost certain I heard some evidence of strange ensemble playing.

But it’s a party Jacob! Lighten up. If the audience want a party then why should the players be held up to the same scrutiny they were during the season? Shouldn’t they be able to let their hair down too?

Maybe they should. Maybe I should stop being such a grumpy arsehole. Maybe I should remind myself that perhaps if I’d been a happy bunny during the season I would have overlooked all of those things and entered in to the spirit of things a little more.

I can only really explain how it seemed at that moment in time (and 24 hours later). I liked the Hoover piece. Loved it in fact. It sent up the pomposity of some modern music concerts in a fun way. It offered something memorable to proceedings. Jiri Beholaklavek’s obvious mastery of hamming it up with his hoover was amusing although I wasn’t entirely convinced that Jennifer Pike needed to be there or why Martha Kearny or Rory Bremner for that matter. Double Bassist Chi Chi’s role as riflemen was justified given that she’s a) gorgeous b) on Radio 3 and c) a Proms pundit. Her cohort Goldie behind her did, I’m afraid, look rather like he’d escaped from a nearby care home.

Strangely enough, it was the Henry Wood orchestrations of Henry Purcell’s music which were enjoyable – possibly the only way I’ll happily consume Baroque music is if it’s multi-layered with instrumentation to the point it sounds ridiculously overblown. So too, conductor David Robertson’s speech at the end of the concert. It may have been his firs Last Night Of the Proms, but his first address demonstrated he’s already mastered a dry sense of humour. He should settle in well.

But despite these things, what I realised was that the Last Night of the Proms with its links to everyone across the country, is primarily a TV event. An event which looks fantastic in HD and consequently needs to be produced as a TV show. That’s why it is such a bitty programme. That’s why hoping it will meet the same criteria other concerts in the season do is a pointless wish.

And because it’s a TV event – a TV party – it’s little wonder I didn’t connect with it (and wouldn’t have done if I’d been in the hall either). It felt different from the thing I love about the Proms. I’m there for the music. I’m there to hear something stunning and gripping. I’m after an emotional response to something I’ve heard or seen. The Last Night of the Proms will never do these things.

Proms 2009: Prom 74 – Brahms 4 \ Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra \ Zubin Mehta

Seeing the Vienna Philharmonic and conductor Zubin Mehta for the penultimate night of the Proms season this was a bit of a treat.

There’s a special feeling about the penultimate night. It’s not the Last Night, for a start (no, I’m not a snob, I’ve been before, I just haven’t got the energy to queue for a place in the arena and I didn’t even enter in the ticket ballot this year either). The penultimate night really does see the final concert (or concerts) in the season before the party atmosphere and slightly throw away nature of the following night.

Tonight’s early evening Prom was interesting. Just a few minutes of hearing the sweet sound of the first violins and I couldn’t help thinking why it was or how it was that one orchestra like the Vienna Phil could sound so very different from the other orchestras of the season. How did they achieve that sound? Was it really as distinct as it seemed stood in the fourth row of the arena?

How was it that an orchestra could still get away with not having any more than a token gesture of women in it’s personnel list and how was it their mere presence on the stage made me feel comfortable that whatever it was they played it would be good?

Is it marketing? Is the sound of their name? Is it the idea that something foreign will somehow be of higher quality? Was it the glass of merlot I queued ten minutes for and guzzled in three which skewed my perception?

The Vienna Philharmonic is brilliant. And the performance of Brahms Fourth Symphony was brilliant too. It seemed like an effortless performance from the very beginning. It felt at times as though Brahms’ music was its very lifeblood.

Of course, a far more experienced and well-read critic would raise questions Mehta’s interpretation in one of the movements. There would be something which was played too fast, a chord which demonstrated a momentary lapse of judgement or the sequences when questionable ensemble in the strings revealed the egos of some of the first violins for the soloists they were when they weren’t doing their day jobs.

But you can’t concentrate on those piddly little points when the audience is carried along on the kind of triumphant journey Brahms penned in his final symphony.

There may have been a late night Prom (and it’s probably worth listening to on iPlayer) and of course there’s that party to watch on TV the night after, but as penultimate nights go this was yet another fantastic end to the season. A memorable one. One which yielded it’s own party atmosphere at the end in the form of two throwaway polkas. Perfect.

Proms 2009: Prom 70 – Fiddler on the Shore \ Peter Maxwell Davies \ Daniel Hope \ Sibelius 5 \ Royal Philharmonic Orchestra

There was a distinct whiff of mould in the area where I was sitting. I was fairly certain it wasn’t the widow sat next to me, nor the man in a Harris Tweed to my left. Every now and again I got a strong blast of the smell. It didn’t go down well.

This however was nothing in comparison to the glares flashed in my direction from the front row of the arena at the beginning of the second half.

Seconds after spindly conductor Garry Walker had swept purposefully onto stage, bowed and raised his baton so the unmistakable sound of a twinkling mobile phone rang out from somewhere in the row behind me. Some of the prommers were clearly unable to pinpoint exactly who the culprit was hence why I was hyper-aware of the need to keep my hands by my side. Making any gestures which might indicate it was my mobile phone going off was crucial.

If it had been my mobile phone going off I would, of course, have been embarrassed. The chances are I probably would have made more of a concerted to switch the device off rather than merely gesturing to do so. At least that way I would have avoided it going off a second time. Given the proximity of the musicians it would have been the least I could do. Unfortunately, the owner of the phone twinkling loudly next to the principal double bassist in the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra seemed unable to switch it off.

She surely couldn’t have failed to take notice of some of the prommers’ heads slowly turning in her direction. Most displayed momentary disbelief before returning to the focus of their attention on stage. Two, however, saw this otherwise forgivable incident as a cue to shake their heads and mouth their displeasure at having their enjoyment of the performance interrupted. Such opportunities for disdain are not to be missed, it seems, especially in a public forum.

I felt rather sorry. I didn’t know the lady but it did rather feel the reaction of the prommers‘ in question seemed distinctly more unpalatable than the mobile phone going off in the first place.

Who in their right mind would purposefully switch their mobile phone on loud for the beginning of a live concert? What were the odds of someone ringing just at that very moment? Look how close to the stage we were in that position. That phone going off was a mistake. It must have been. To cast disapproving looks towards the culprit seemed unnecessarily judgemental, even by my standards.

I turned to the reassure the lady at the end of the symphony but was surprised to discover she had already left her seat and could now be seen looking over the rail in the direction of the conductor’s walk to the stage door. Was she apologising to the conductor? Whilst the rest of the auditorium appeared to be heartily applauding the band, this seemed to be the most likely explanation. Soon after that the lady in question had left the auditorium.

I caught sight of her outside the Royal Albert Hall on my way to Door 1 to meet some friends. She stood in a tight group, all eyes looking down at the handful of mobile phones in her. She was talking to the ticket touts I seen selling last minute tickets for Prom 70 pre-concert. I’m sure I heard her say to one of them, “I couldn’t make this one work.”

“Really don’t worry about your phone going off,” I gestured, thinking almost immediately that there was every likelihood my words didn’t sound as sincere as they were meant. The men surrounding her laughed as she looked on at me confused. “It happens from time to time.Really, don’t worry.”

She looked at me even more confused.

“Your phone .. “ I pointed at the devices she had in her hand, “it rang during the concert.”

She was definitely the same woman. I recognised the pink hairclip she had in her grey hair. I know it was the same person. I know.

The lady looked back at the touts, smiled and said to me, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Listen to reaction post Peter Maxwell Davies’ UK premiere of Fiddler on the Shore.

Listen to Sibelius 5 from last night’s Prom concert (including the ringtone at the beginning). Peter Maxwell Davies’ concerto is available here.

Proms 2009: Prom 68 – Messiah \ Handel \ Northern Sinfonia

Conflicting professional responsibilities in the face of an approaching deadline combined with a vigorous disinterest in what was going on in the Royal Albert Hall during Prom 69 led me to remain at home and listen on the radio.

Unfortunately, I tuned in at the wrong time. Maybe being there would have been a better idea.

Listen

Doctor Who: The Stuff of Nightmares \ Tom Baker \ Paul Magrs

Is writer Paul Magrs’ latest creation occupying an otherwise cramped Doctor Who stable of franchise spin-offs the one to knock seven-bells off the competition? Or is audio drama The Stuff of Nightmares a bit of a coded signal in which at one time impossible dream of Tom Baker returning to his role in a special TV appearance a little bit closer to a reality?

Let’s not get carried away. At least I shouldn’t. Such impulse normally leads to intense disappointment.

Even so, there is an undeniable joy to be savoured listening to Magrs’ script, brought to life by Baker’s classic voice. It may be nearly thirty years since he fell to the ground at the bottom of that mast in the Christopher Bidmead story Logopolis, but hearing his voice read the first few sentences of this story brought happy memories back. Years haven’t aged Baker. It’s a joy to have him back in the fold.

A joy too to sit back and listen to a good old-fashioned mystery being played out. The writing is sound and engaging, almost sickeningly so. Sure, at first listen the sound of a character called “Mr Noggins” may not immediately sound particularly Doctor Who (I’m talking retro-Doctor Who), but its all delivered with plausibility as to make the finished product dark and forboding rather than cheap and transparent.

It takes a lot of nods of heads, shaking of hands and signing of legal documents before a writer is allowed to even consider penning a story about this highly-valued character. I can’t help thinking the fact this is out (and the fact I’m enjoying it) might mean Mr Magrs and quite possibly even Mr Baker figure more highly on-screen in the coming years.

I bloody hope so.

Have a look for the story on iTunes, or if you can’t be arsed to go there, go to Play.com instead

Proms 2009: Prom 63 – Xenakis \ Rachmaninov \ BBC Symphony Orchestra

Prom 63 featuring the BBC Symphony Orchestra conducted by David Robertson was my first return to the Royal Albert Hall for what felt like a long time. The truth I had visited during the second half of last Friday’s Prom but this could easily be dismissed on account of me slightly (or possibly quite) drunk.

Returning felt a little odd, almost as though I’d given the season a second go after a painful but necessary trial separation. By the end of the concert however, it felt as though me and the season had ironed out our problems and I was ready to embrace the last few concerts before the Last Night.

The concert opened in a reassuringly challenging way with Xenakis’ Nomos Gamma. Prommers looked on with interest while 98 players from the BBC Symph dispersed around the arena led the way through the 15 minute work.

It was always going to be a strange concoction of sound – all manner of different techniques being used by the players to meet Xenakis’ exacting requirements. But aside from the unexpectedly engaging cacophany created by the split percussion section on the stage and around the edges of the arena, Nomos Gamma seemed little more than it sounded on first listen: a noise.

The second work by Xennakis – Ais for amplified singer and percussion at the beginning second half was a complete contrast. Special mention goes to baritone Leigh Melrose who carried off the unprecedented challenges presented in the vocal line and brilliant New Generation Artist Colin Currie reminding us of his obvious talent. Moments of arresting orchestration demand a second listen to this work.

Whilst it’s always a pleasure to hear anything by Shostakovich (the relative brevity of his ninth symphony was a deliberate act on the composer’s part cocking a snook at the Soviet authorities in 1945), it was the Rachmaninov The Isle of the Dead which really resonated.

On a day when the sad news of a colleague’s untimely death registered nothing but confusion, there was something strangely uplifting about the dark world Rachmaninov painted. The BBC Symphony’s poignant performance proved that for every overly sentimental composition Rachmaninov has penned there is an undiscovered gems waiting to act as the perfect epitaph.

In memory of Penny.

Proms 2009: Prom 56 – Chopin Piano Concerto No. 2 \ Lang Lang Staatskapelle Dresden

He doesn’t realise it, but pianist Lang Lang faced his toughest gig at the Proms when he set foot on the platform and thundered through Chopin’s second piano concerto.

I didn’t go. I didn’t want to. The Royal Albert Hall feels like a hostile location at the moment. I wanted to keep it at a discreet distance. South East London, in fact, from where I could watch the live BBC Four broadcast.

One of the main points of interest for me was the interval piece. I’m a media junky after all. The only way to learn about TV production and presentation is to see how other people do it.

I watched like a hawk for tips, observed an impressive and highly informative two-way between presenter @zebsoanes (who consistently demonstrates his commitment to sporting a stylishly smart yet casual look) and Radio 3 In Tune chappy Petroc Trelawney.

Joining the broadcast part-way through I only caught the last part of the piano concerto. True to form I brought issues to what little of the performance I heard and found myself making typically superficial judgements about what I saw.

I’m not a big fan of over-expressive facial expressions, I have to confess. Such overt musicality jarred on the 42” screen I was watching on. So too, Lang Lang’s choice of jacket. I can just tell when something doesn’t work and it didn’t. White is never a good look. Never.

The performance of the Chopin wasn’t the greatest I’d ever heard, it has to be said. This is in part due to the nature of the concerto. The work – pleasant enough in it’s complete inoffensiveness – doesn’t really do anything. It’s the kind of work which might be offered up as a last-minute-I-don’t-know-what-to-get-you-but-you-say-you’d-like-more-classical-music-cds present. Maybe it’s because of its inoffensiveness and resulting familiarity that the moments of rocky ensemble playing saw my backside momentarily leave the sofa and with my head in my hands.

Such a reaction is perfectly understandable given the potential pitfalls of a live performance. It’s also acceptable because I did it at home (even if I am blogging about it publically now).

What seemed extremely discourteous in comparison however, was the heckling Lang Lang found himself subjected to moments before he began his encore. According to my scouts who were there, the voice emanated from somewhere reasonably close to the front of the arena as the pianist prepared himself to play the Chopin etude. “Oh no.” said the voice. And then again .. “Oh no.”

Lang Lang’s obvious ease and charm dealing with such behaviour is a lesson to all of us who stick our heads above the parapet in pursuit of creative satisfaction. His skill was also evident on screen (in that it was televised). That doesn’t make the heckling OK however.

Given the opinion often trotted out that classical music needs to combat the supposedly stuffy image it has, the most predictable outcry to what follows might be ”Loosen up.” Still, I feel it necessary to spell out the bottom line.

There is a basic etiquette adhered to in the concert hall manifested in a basic level of respect. This is not because of the perceived conservatism of the classical music world, but merely the result of being polite.

Such a core aspiration (which should not restricted to the domain of the concert hall) should be especially borne in mind depending on proximity to the stage. A decision to voice one’s opinions in such a crass way should be made only if you consider yourself skilled enough (and with an opportunity to prove it) to pull off a better performance than the one you’ve just heard. If you fail to meet this criteria I would humbly suggest you set up a Twitter account or – if you’re as verbose as I am – consider writing a blog.

To do otherwise just seems rude, ungrateful and ultimately objectionable not only to the performer, but to those around you who demonstrate a considerably more firm grasp of the basics of human nature.

The result of all this is, inevitably an appreciation of Lang Lang as a performer which transcends the superficial judgements about his platform etiquette and the criticisms of the live performance of the Chopin. Based on that and the exquisite encore, I’m inclined to expand my collection of piano music as a result starting with Lang Lang’s list of recordings.

Oh .. and whilst I’m on the courtesy bus, pushing in is another thing I’d add to the etiquette help file I’m compiling, so too a heartfelt but equally unequivocal growl that flash photography isn’t on inside the auditorium either. It’s a concert, not a trip to the zoo.

Proms 2009: Prom 53 – Mendelssohn Scottish Symphony \ Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment \ Roger Norrington

Let me talk you through my morning routine. It starts later than most senior people in the media industry in that I normally wake up to my alarm at 7.30am, drift back to sleep and then drag my carcass out from underneath the duvet at the same time as checking my email on my phone. Twitter is checked around about the time I plant my backside on the toilet.

The past few days has seen a dramatic mood change drastically by the time I’ve left the bathroom. This is in part my fault. I have my phone set up to alert every time some tweets about the Proms. And believe me, there’s nothing worse than being told how wonderful last night’s performances were when I’d made a conscious decision to avoid the Proms. At least, until I was in a better frame of mind.

I explained to a friend how my connection with the Proms at the present time was not unlike the emotions I experienced when I realised that a relationship with a girlfriend really was well and truly over – so much so I didn’t want to spend any more time than I absolutely had to in her company. Hence why I chose the graduation ball I invited her to attend as my significant other to tell her she was no longer required to fulfill the role. It’s not a nice feeling. I was justifiably remonstrated for being an insensitive fool.

Still, I’m not a total arse. I’ve managed to preserve some level-headedness. The BBC provides the iPlayer. That’s what these things are here for. Give authentic performance chappy Roger Norrington and his merry band of players from the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment a go. Despite a first half of Purcell and Handel (with a smattering of Haydn), there’s still a chance they’ll deliver that road to Damascus experience I craved earlier in the season.

The OAE didn’t disappoint nor the quality of the catchup recording on iPlayer. Volume up loud I was forced to acknowledge that actually, just maybe I may have found a snippet of Handel’s music I rather enjoyed. It might even have been possible I thought it was quite, quite beautiful (in no small part thanks to Joyce DiDonato’s exquisite voice). I may even be prepared to sit through an entire recording of the opera Xerxes from which the excerpt Ombra Mui Fu came from. Possibly. Check back here at a later date.

The real revelation however was Mendelssohn’s Scottish Symphony. Played on modern instruments on most of the recordings I’ve got, the sound is mushy, the strings distant and the wind indistinct. Stick it on in the background. Think nothing of it. Not as good as the Italian but pleasant enough. That’s all there is to it, I reckoned.

Norrington and his band however produced something entirely different. He gave them time and in return they gave him and the audience an effortless illlustration of the intricacies of Mendelssohn’s at times fiendish orchestration. At least it sounded effortless. There could have been blood, sweat and tears on stage for all I know. I was listening via iPlayer after all.

Really interesting was the slide Norrington got string players to play somewhere approaching the end of the first movement and the hard sticks on taut timpani punching through the ensemble towards the end of the last movement. The woodwind were stunning, the brass too breathtaking. Especially touching was the extended time given over to the woodwind lines towards the end – not something I’d heard before in performance. Not stopping for much of a break in between movements undoubtedly made for a far more complete experience of Mendelssohn’s work too. And yes, I realise I’m gushing.

Norrington did a wonderful thing at Prom 53. This doesn’t necessarily mean the relationship is *back on* of course. It was the orchestra rather than the season which provided the revelation. But I did enjoy it. And as anyone who finds themselves having to resuscitate a relationship will tell you, it’s all about taking things slowly. I am not about to jump back into bed with the Proms, but I might just see it through to the end of the ball.

• Listen to Mendelssohn’s Scottish Symphony played by the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment
• Read the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment’s blog. It’s well written.

Proms 2009: Prom 52 – Schnittke Nagasaki \ London Symphony Orchestra

Listen

Proms 2009: Prom 51 – Brahms Violin Concerto \ Joshua Bell \ BBC Symphony Orchestra

After Friday night’s Proms experience, I was more than happy to remain at home for this particular Prom. Unlike those who insist the only decent listening experience is in the Royal Albert Hall, ten minutes into the BBC Symphony Orchestra’s performance of Haydn’s Clock Symphony, I was reminded why listening at home is theoretically a nicer experience.

There are no crowds, air temperatures can be maintained at an optimum level and the sound mix on the radio is perfect. This is a live performance optimised for a radio broadcast. Consequently, assuming the performers are tip-top then the complete package will be perfect too. Perfection added to by the ambience provided by nearly 6000 people who have trekked across London in the searing heat and occupied their little bit of territory in South Kensington. I sprawled out on the sofa and turned the levels up high.

My personal bookmark for Prom 51 was Joshua Bell’s performance of Brahms’ Violin Concerto. I’d looked forward to it all day. After Isabelle Faust’s Mendelssohn Violin Concerto and the daring (some still reckon foolhardy) execution of Tchaikovsky’s fiddle concerto, how would Joshua Bell deliver the Brahms? And would he make it alive from the auditorium if he did anything other that what the audience expected from this popular work.

Of course, I can’t be sure on the latter. I wasn’t there. But what I heard seemed clear enough.

Ask someone to give cast iron reasons why they’re in love with someone else and watch as they falter, stumbling as they offer joyless justifications for the emotional connection they hold dear to with the most important person in their life.

It’s the same with a brilliant performance. Listen to Joshua Bell’s rendition. Sure, I could list things like: the intonation was spot on; the way he phrased the theme in the first movement was exquisite; the ensemble playing was totally reliable. This would all be cold, uninteresting and pointless self-aggrandising babble. Flagging up anything negativity would achieve the same goal. It’s best not to say anything (which given that this posting amounts to approximately 500 words is stretching things a bit).

Instead, be content with the assessment that Joshua Bell’s Brahms Violin Concerto will definitely deliver – even to those who have never heard it before.

So good, in fact, it leaves me wondering just what mood Bell can be found in when he has an off day or worse, is caught playing one duff note. I’d like to see that – live in HD TV. I’d stay at home to watch it and I’d probably burn it to Blu-Ray too just so I have it for posterity.

After all, perfection isn’t everything unless accompanied by a smidgen of vulnerability, is it? I’m in no doubt Bell copes with off-days admirably. At least that’s the impression I get listening to him on the radio.

Proms 2009: Prom 48 – Tristan und Isolde \ West Eastern Divan Orchestra \ Daniel Barenboim

“What are you doing here?” asked by someone with a familiar face as I headed towards the exit. “Business or pleasure?”

I hesitated before answering. That in itself probably gave the game away.

I’d worked hard all day. Domestic arrangements had changed this afternoon ahead of a busy weekend of plans focussing on celebrating a friend’s 40th. My original plan to attend both early evening and late night Proms had already been curtailed to only the evening Prom. It was vitally important this evening’s experience was a pleasurable one. Now with the interval bell tolling, it was looking increasingly likely I wasn’t going to make it to the end of the concert and I’d been caught making my escape.

The truth is this evening is now the third occasion I’ve visited the Royal Albert Hall and been forced to acknowledge a palpable feeling of not wanting to be there. To most well-balanced individuals that will no doubt sound like absolute piffle. After all, if I’ve made the decision to attend a concert in a season I advocate with my predictable (and probably tiresome) withering enthusiasm, then surely wild horses wouldn’t drag me away from it.

What I’ve noticed in recent weeks is this: my live concert experience is frequently subject to the feelings I bring to the concert hall. Sometimes the music will transport me. Sometimes I’ll leave the venue trying to recall exactly what it was I was concerned about before I went in.

Other times I’ll hear the orchestra tune up, applaud the conductor’s arrival on stage and find myself screwing my nose up. If it continues past five minutes into the performance I’ll almost certainly be lost. I’ll obsess about nothing else but the things running through my mind the moments before that all important announcement we hear in the auditorium. This I consider to be a failing on my part to stop obsessing about otherwise insignificant things. It is no way a judgement on anything going on or not going on on-stage.

So it was during the Lizst Les Preludes played by West Eastern Divan Orchestra and nearly all the way through the Prelude from Tristan und Isolde with it’s agonisingly beautiful and academically challenging opening chord.

Memories come flooding back of the hours I spent during my A-Level music studies,preparing for the question I knew would come up in the exam I knew I wouldn’t be able to answer. Just what was the cast-iron correct analytical answer as to the make-up of that opening chord. And, if I couldn’t work it out and remember the answer before the final exam, would I be able to wing it sufficiently without the examiner seeing nothing but hastily scribbled panic-stricken doodles on my answer paper instead?

When I wasn’t thinking about that I was replaying the brief conversation I’d started up with someone I’d spied edging their way closer to the front of the arena. I should be more laid back about this. I should be considerably less territorial about this especially given the political problems the membership of the orchestra transcend.

Yet, hemmed into the arena on another capacity night I found it difficult not to say “I’m sorry, I’m being terribly charming about this, but you are pushing in and that really isn’t on.”

The response wasn’t as accommodating as I would have hoped although it was eventually followed up with a “I’ll stand behind you, then.” And whilst many would justifiably say ‘you got what you wanted so stand there and shutup Jon’, I did rather end up rather regretting even making the request in the first place. People who know me well know better than anyone that if I come to the arena having copped the needle I do find it rather difficult to uncop it, so to speak.

So I found myself in the arena in the interval noting how I hadn’t enjoyed myself .. again… and how I really need to shake the fug I’ve found myself suffering from repeatedly. If I don’t risk letting the feeling I fear I’m falling out of love with a season take hold. And if that happens I’m not only going to find myself feeling like I’ve done when I’m faced with having to finish a relationship but in so doing I’m overlooking the efforts of numerous performers who grace the Royal Albert Hall platform.

Maybe it’s just better if I listen on the radio. At least that way I’ll get to the end of a concert. I won’t upset anyone and no-one will upset me. Business can be pleasure all rolled into one. I might even stand a chance of doing what tonight’s soon-to-be-defunct London Paper horoscope suggested might be a good idea.

Proms 2009: Prom 45 – Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain

Late Night Proms. The idea of them sounds great. A weekday concert starting late with an entirely different kind of programme sounds like a mid-week cultural indulgence I like to gush at. I normally listen to such things on the radio. I imagine the Royal Albert Hall, admire the hardcore fans who have stayed late to hear a cracking performance. It’s a different atmosphere. It always sounds good on the radio.

Attending a Late Night Prom – attending the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain’s Late Night Prom – was an entirely different matter. The sight of the arena day ticket queue having extended it’s way down towards the entrance of Imperial College courtyard (always a good indicator of a popular concert) as early as 8pm was unusual and impressive.

It was also – perhaps – to be expected.

Promotion on the Proms website, various radio appearances featuring Radio 4 Continuity Lovely Kathy Clugston and producer Roland Taylor, UOGB appearances on Radio 4 and (I understand) a handful of pieces on the news yesterday. Prom concerts don’t get attention like this. This is an unusual thing. But then the Ukulele Orchestra Of Great Britain is an unusual thing. So too the enthusiasm their instruments provoke in officiandos.

Uke fans (they’re cool, inclusive, and an arrestingly wide range of ages) had downloaded music from the Proms site to learn for a special audience participation number in the live broadcast. 992 registrations. 992 signals of intent to come to the Royal Albert Hall and play a snippet from Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. Everyone gets a chance to play. This was flagship audience participation.

I have a problem with audience participation. It’s me, not the idea. I fail to get carried away with the atmosphere enveloping me. Everyone else around me might be getting ridiculously excited about what they’re hearing or what they’re doing or what the person on stage is telling them to think, feel or do but I remain steadfastly opposed to going with the crowd. I’m a control freak. I’m objectionable like that.

If someone tells me I ought to be doing something that’s usually my green traffic light to do precisely the opposite. This might account for why I turned up at the Royal Albert Hall last night lacking a Ukulele and it seemed to most of the Proms Cohorts, any vibe let alone enthusiasm. I was, essentially, a grumpy prommer. A grumpy prommer with a face like a smacked arse. This was flagged up by a number of independent observers. It might have been dark outside the Royal Albert Hall as we waited to process inside, but my mood must have appeared like a beacon.

I’ve been to the Last Night of the Proms. I know I can let myself go if I want to. I know I can have a good time – and enjoy having a good time. Those occasions are usually preceded by the consumption of a reasonable amount of cheap alcohol however. I did say I was a control freak. I’m a virgo who was teased mercilessly at school. I still have issues.

A wave from @petergregson and @stevebowbrick in the stalls in my direction in the arena reminded me that I was the only one who brought these issues to the arena. My internal dialogue presented stark choices: I could maintain my fear of participation, or I could just get over it and myself. I noted the good view @petergregson and @stevebowbrick had of the stage and the arena.

When the band came on stage and kicked off with an arrangement of Puffin’ Billy, my mood changed. Quite apart from the endearingly comical sound their instruments produce, the UOGB have a rare talent. Their effect is immediate.

They personalities exude on stage. The interplay between them is immediately engaging. They could be actors who happen to be really accomplished at playing the Uke. Instead, they come across as eight instrumentalists who have a typically British grasp of self-deprecation down to a fine art. They look like people who get on with one another, people who (if they don’t already) should really live in a house together. Their ensemble playing sounds intricate and complicated and insurmountably difficult, but it appears effortless. Every member gets a star turn too. We love each and every one of them because they’re cool and enthusiastic and brilliant.

Only the day before I unwittingly crossed paths with the radio producer responsible for the Ukulele gig. “All set for the big night?” I asked. “It’s just another day,” he replied as we parted company at the lift.

The reality was that hearing the seemingly unconditional love the capacity audience had for UOGB and seeing a thousand ukuleles held aloft like lighters at a Queen concert, the Ukulele prom was anything but “just a normal day”.

Even a grumpy prommer with a face like a slapped arse couldn’t fail to notice or be moved by that. I just find it difficult to let myself go. And I can forgive myself for that. I really can.

Keep an ear out for most adorably fluffy falsetto from the Uke bass player (“Uke’s are the future. Don’t fight it.”) in the plagiarism number. Like John Wilson, that man needs wrapping up and putting up on the mantelpiece. Listen out too for the longest note held by one of the other players in the Bond number.

• Sadly, I spectacularly failed to look in the right direction when the group shot was taken.
• Listen to the Ukulele Prom on Radio 3 via BBC iPlayer.
• Read a far less self-indulgent assessment of the Ukulele Prom on Intermezzo
• Listen to the massed ukuleles tune up and practise before the concert. I was rather close to the speakers.