Why the LSO has got it right

I love classical music.

Well, maybe it would be more accurate to say that classical music or more specifically orchestral music has the potential to offer total escape.

Sometimes I can have Radio 3 on all day. Sometimes I’ll try and deny the fact I’ve been forced to tune into Classic FM. I have even been known to actually quite admire John Brunning’s velvety tones. Choral Evensong is always a safe bet on a Wednesday afternoon. Breakfast on Radio 3, reliable.

Occasionally however some things can take me by surprise. Formerly they’ve been works I’ve heard on the radio. Latterly they’ve been excerpts I’ve found myself immersed in on the internet.

So it is with the LSO’s latest YouTube gobbit. I’m fairly certain that former Radio 3 chappy Tommy Pearson from Red Ted Films is behind this little gem from the London Symphony featuring Gergiev commanding a sickeningly committed string section (and a reassuringly sparkling wind section) through a sequence I’d not heard before in Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet.

And that’s the thing. We all know the usual predictable extract from Romeo and Juliet (dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum-dum) but embarrassingly I can’t recall ever having heard this bit. And the ONLY reason I’ve heard it is because Twitter user Tam Pollard tweeted a link to it saying the same thing.

Having heard it, I’m quite keen to either get the performance on DVD (hopefully blu-ray if The Pearson has shot it in HD) or on CD.

Let’s hope the LSO’s marketing department get their backsides in gear. If they don’t, I may be forced to purchase someone else’s recording.

Either way, I may possibly end up being persuaded to go straight to iTunes as a result of have an excerpt pushed past me a video on the internet. And if that’s the case, I may well be tuning into my radio a little less during the day.

I’ll be going straight to the source of the music. And when that happens that’s a signal that peer review has finally made it to the classical music world. And not a moment too soon either.

Phillipa Ibbotson, conductors and career suicide

Philipa Ibbotson may – if her admission on Radio 4’s PM programme this afternoon (it’s 37 minutes in) that friends of hers have said ’she’ll never work again’ – seems defiant responding to criticism about her recent Guardian blog post.

If you’ve not read it, here’s a brief (and I hope) reasonably accurate summary.

Orchestral players get a raw deal because they’re not paid enough for their obvious talents. Conductors in the UK sometimes get as much as £25,000 per concert. She questions whether conductors really represent true value for money. And if they don’t represent value for money, couldn’t they take a pay cut like Bruce Forsyth has done over Strictly Come Dancing?

It’s an interesting point. It’s a reasonably interesting idea. But there’s something in her tone during this broadcast which leaves me cold.

She says that she’s paying far too close attention to the music she’s playing to pay due deference to the conductor whose paid so very much to stand up and beat time with his baton.

A surprising admission. I have heard enough badly performed works to appreciate finely nuanced performances both in the concert hall and on CD. The performances which are memorable aren’t those who have been arrived at because of a democratically agreed artistic interpretation amongst the players, but ultimately because of the artistic vision of the man who beats time (and in some cases during the live TV broadcasts during the Proms) sweats buckets. Sure, the orchestra could problably perform without the conductor, but it is the conductor who drives the machine. And an orchestra without a conductor would mean us bloggers wouldn’t have anyone to blame when it does go wrong. Singling out one player for shoddy intonation seems like bad form. (If you disagree, please let me know.)

There are plenty of conductors who perhaps don’t make the grade. If you can’t play professionally, then conduct. If you can’t conduct, then compose. If you can’t compose (or play professionally), you may want to consider teaching. But still, those conductors have their place. They’re vital to the machine. They’re also vital (sadly) to ticket sales. That concert-going public loves a big name. Audiences love celebrity. It is a fact of life. That’s why people flocked to see Yehudi Menuhin conduct concerts. The orchestral players felt differently – but still, there was a kick playing to a capacity audience.

Maybe there’s good reason for a conductor to take a pay cut. I can live with that idea. But don’t, whatever you do, think for a moment that a conductor taking a pay cut means the orchestral musicians will see their salaries rise. It doesn’t work like that. That would unstitch the very fabric of time.

That’s not to say orchestral musicians are not deserving of more money – and whilst we’re on the subject, you might want to stop and consider their working conditions. For some it’s playing gigs every night. For those single types that kind of schedule plays havoc with your social life making romantic liaisons almost entirely centred on the workplace (what a hideous prospect that could be if the eye-candy is poor?).

All I’m saying is, there are probably better ways to improve the situation. Nobody likes a whinger. And whilst I’m more than happy to accept that I’m not showing due gratitude for Ms Ibbotson’s efforts or those of my friends for their playing abilities, I just think there’s a better way of taking action.

Proms 2009: Diary (5)

I’m not absolutely convinced I’ve got the hang on these Boo wotnots. It always seems like a nice idea but invariably I end up listening to it back and thinking its all just a little bit too weird. Still, at least there’s time to polish the act so to speak between now and the beginning of the BBC Proms. Fingers crossed I get my season ticket in time….

Listen!

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Proms Diary 2009 (4) – BBC Symphony Orchestra @ Westfieldspo

The BBC Symphony Orchestra rocked up at nearby Westfield Shopping Centre ahead of the Proms as part of a “Proms Out and About” promoting the forthcoming season. In addition to seeing a variety of little helpers dressed in green and yellow t-shirts, I also got a chance to see Radio 3 Controller Roger Wright being all normal and lovely having donned a pair of stout trainers and eating a banana. Quite a treat.

I couldn’t resist recording a bit of audio …

LSO \ George Fenton \ Barbican

Composer George Fenton maintained a modest presence on the podium at the Barbican Concert Hall during a special concert featuring music from a career spanning over thirty years.

Fenton’s unfailing self-effacing style was endearing. It also ensure attention remained squarely on his work played by a band who clearly showed their appreciation of his film and tv scores and his low-key conducting style.

If at times it felt as though an entire programme of film music lacked a narrative, Fenton’s music successfully sold a collection of film and TV programmes to one member of the audience in need of some long-overdue Saturday afternoon distractions.

The best half was undoubtedly the second with the Dam Buster-esque music from Valiant and Beyond the Clouds. High Spirits did what it said on the tin.

Everyone knew Cry Freedom would rise to a suitable climax, but it was singer Nicola Emmanuelle’s rendition of Fenton’s China Moon which unexpectedly made me bristle. Fenton at his absolute who must have been writing music in an incredibly good mood given the effect his writing was having on the percussion section.

George Fenton

With so much information available on the internet I do sometimes find myself feeling a tad guilty for not feeling arsed to go and find out stuff off my own back. Sometimes I need an impetus. Sometimes I need to be provoked into finding out stuff about someone or something.

That spark of interest came from Tommy Pearson’s excellent Stage and Screen Online podcast interview with film and TV composer George Fenton (left). There’s a total of an hours worth of fascinating conversation between the two discussing the process he followed composing the film soundtrack to Ghandi. There’s also plenty of discussion about his other film scores to boot.

Quite apart from the fact Fenton comes across as a refreshingly humble and charming individual, what really surprised me was learning about Fenton’s work on various TV programmes I remember watching as a kid. In particular was the signature tune to BBC Breakfast Time, the first network breakfast programme in the UK and guaranteed to provoke a warm fuzzy feeling whenever I hear it.

I remember the moment well, sat in front of the fan heater in a cold lounge at home, up in time to watch the first programme go out. I remember there being something really quite exciting about the music back then. That combined with the arresting simple visuals provided a fitting moment in television. At least that’s how I think I recall it.

Whilst I can’t be sure whether he was the man behind the following news based signature tune (I know he composed Newsnight – and he discusses it at the end of the first part of Pearson’s podcast), I’m fairly certain he must have had a hand in the BBC’s One O Clock news from the mid-eighties.

The compositional style mirrors that of Breakfast Time effortless. It has, for me at least, Fenton’s name written all over it. It successfully combined urgency and excitement without the usual self-conscious impending doom associated with so many present-day news themes. It promised hope rather pessimism. The soundtrack combined with the graphics communicated integrity. It should come as no surprise it was around about the same time as I started dreaming of being a newsreader, a dream I might add I haven’t realised.

Hear Tommy Pearson’s podcast interview with composer George Fenton (Part One / Part Two)

Fenton is also in conversation with Tommy Pearson on Sunday 7 June prior to a London Symphony Orchestra concert in the Barbican Concert Hall featuring a selection of the composer’s film and TV scores. Be sure to go.

Look at my sexy widget

Maybe I misunderstood Handel

    

Pasta & Parsley, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

I am a walking cliche. Not only am I proud homosexual with a partner, a mortgage, two gorgeous fluffy cats and no real desire to adopt or engage with a surrogate mother, but I’m also a red wine drinker, a bloke who likes to cook and finds pine worktops and directional kitchen lighting appealing. I am everything you see in the adverts and more.

Tonight is quite possibly the first night in a long, long time I’ve found myself relaxing. It’s been a massive indulgence, first taking a trip to a nearby electrical store to replace a much-loved and now totally defunct bathroom radio, then spending the remainder of the evening casually sipping red wine whilst I cook a cheeky little number from Rachel Allan’s Favourite Food.

It’s the spicy creamy sausage with pasta in case you’re interested served with a scraping of parmesan cheese and fresh chopped parsley from the garden. Yes, that’s right. We grow our own herbs.

What’s striking amongst this sickening and shameful scenario (I work in a media industry which looks down its nose at people who appreciate feeling comfortable and contented) is to what extent I reckoned it’s contributed to me appreciated the music of a composer I have in recent weeks denounced as “boring”.

Some people reckon George Friedrich Handel’s music is beautiful. Those same people fail to understand why it is I find it deathly dull. Don’t make me sit and listen to his Messiah. I know I won’t enjoy it.

And yet, a small number of glasses of red wine and the ridiculous kitchen setting described above, and I’m prepared to confess that I may possibly have been converted to Handel’s music. True, it’s music coming out of a smallish radio in the corner of the kitchen and I am flitting in and out of the kitchen to take in the view of South East London from the front door, but I am listening to his music (in a sense). That’s a start.

Radio: Messiah \ Handel \ St James’ Baroque

Nobody is forced to listen to radio. I certainly didn’t have to listen to Radio 3’s live broadcast of Handel’s Messiah this evening. Nobody told me I had to listen to it. And yet I felt I ought to.

This sense of obligation was in part down to a self-imposed feeling of near loneliness following my recent confession that I found George Friederich Handel’s music “boring”. It’s been playing on my mind for days now. Everyone else seems to rather like Handel. Everyone else expresses surprise that I don’t. One person suggested I was ignorant, another dismissed my disdain for the composer’s music as evidence of my snobbery. A colleague expressed surprised at me not sharing her passion for Handel’s output indicating our friendship may need to go into a trial phase if I didn’t change my views quickly.

It was also near-impossible an event to avoid today. Everybody seemed to be talking about it. Well, I say everyone. Seemingly “new twitterer on the block” BBC Music Magazine who kicked off the day revealing to the blogosphere that the reviews editor would sing everything from the oratorio in the run up to the main event in the evening. I found it difficult not to respond. And, of course, because I responded I ended up checking Twitter all day long to see what BBC Music Magazine were saying next.

Sadly they’re following me on Twitter so won’t have received my plea. Assuming the reviews editor was allowed out of BBC Music Magazine’s Bristol office, I’m only glad I wasn’t on the same train as him from as he ventured to London for the performance. He and I would surely have come to blows especially if he insisted on cheerily singing every famous tune from the work, assuming I let him on to the train in the first place.

Despite all of this relative bile, there were two key reasons why listening to tonight’s performance was important.

Number one is that I’m having Sunday lunch with a friend of a friend who sang in the performance and I’d like to be reasonably well informed. The conversation will inevitably come around to her contribution to the event. It was a big deal after all her being broadcast live to the UK and 17 other countries across Europe and to the United States. I don’t know many people who’ve had that kind of exposure. I’m bristling with excitement just thinking about it. I couldn’t possibly engage in a reasonably intelligent conversation with her unless I’ve actually listened to the performance.

Reason number two is a growing and genuine desire to gain a deeper understanding of Handel’s music. Why is it, for example, his music leaves me cold? Why do I hate melismatic writing in Handel’s works as much as I do? Why do I like JS Bach but not Handel? And .. perhaps most tantalising of all … could there actually come a point when I “get” Handel and his Messiah? And, assuming I reach that point, will I then gain entry to the special club so many other people have a fully paid membership of ?

Tonight’s performance has achieved what I hoped it might. It’s set me on a bit of a course in pursuit of that deeper understanding. For me, Handel’s work is less something for an audience and more for those who participate in it. Perhaps that in itself explains its popularity amongst choral societies up and down the country.

So supposing, just supposing, it’s more enjoyable to participate in (and I mean the entire two and a half hour oratario, not just a selection of arias) does that mean I need to find a choir to sing in ? Do I need to find a performance of Handel’s Messiah to participate in to get a better grip on whether I like it or not? I shall speak to someone somewhere to see whether I might be able to crowbar my way into some rehearsals for this one.

Be sure to listen to the entire performance given by St James Baroque (part 1) (part 2 & 3) the choir of Westminster Abbey and a collection of (from what I could make out) were very good soloists.

Most enlightening of all however was the interval piece of which former Communards man Richard Coles participated in. It helped fill in a few gaps about the composer, why the Messiah (the work) was important to Handel. It also reassured me that I wasn’t the objectionable human being I thought I was as a result of opinions I have about the composer who died 250 years ago.

Juliette \ BBC SO \ Belohlavek \ Martinu

If Martinu was still alive and I had the opportunity to meet him, I reckon I’d probably quite like him. Just look at a picture of him. He looks like he was a nice kind of sort. I’ve no real idea, of course. To judge someone solely by my emotional response to a photograph of someone is a classic and quite literal illustration of judging a book by a cover. This is not to be encouraged.

However, there’s another reason (equally shallow) I reckon I’d quite like him. The music he wrote made him sound like a good bloke. He understood about music and it’s place. He got the balance right.

I’m basing this on one single concert performance of Martinu’s opera Juliette given by a small but perfectly formed and exquisitely able cast of soloists, the BBC Singers and Symphony Orchestra last night. Given that I went to the Barbican Hall in central London expecting to hear a programme of orchestral work by Milhaud, I can also confirm that attending performances of unknown works by personally unknown composers needs both an element of surprise and an open mind. Those two things alone will guarantee the right mindset.

The friend I was accompanying had already had the presence of mind to do a small amount of research before the performance thus making tackling the ridiculously long queue for the programmes a pointless affair. “Read this,” she said pointing to the synopsis at the bottom of the page.

Michel Lepik, a bookbinder from Paris, is dreaming. Finding himself in a small harbour town he sets out to look for a woman (love interest Juliette) he’s absolutely convinced he met three years before. The only problem is, everyone around him can’t remember anything beyond ten minutes in the past. After a search he finally finds her spends a bit of time trying to persuade her into remembering memories of their time together and then when provoked proceeds to shoot her. He only sees her again when he’s approaching the end of his dream in the “Central Office for Dreams”. The nightwatchmen is encouraging Michel to leave (if he stays past his allotted time he’ll stay forever). Will he stay or go?

“Bonkers, isn’t it?” she said looking back at me. We laughed. It did sound rather odd.

And yet, the moment conductor Jiri Belohlavek struck up his baton, Martinu’s music transfixed. Stunningly effecient in his writing, Martinu’s style was established within the first five minutes of the work. This was cinematic writing, tonal and lush. Great swathes of sound painted with broad brushstrokes designed to compliment the action implicit in the vocal lines of the over-worked soloists.

The action got cracking soon too and despite being sung in French (Martinu was Czech by birth and had originally written the performance in his native tongue later choosing to translate it to French when the Nazi invasion of his homeland in 1939 made the likelihood of further performances in Czechoslovakia extremely low) the audience was guided through the plot by the reassuring presence of a surtitle display at the back of the stage. Without it things would have been very tricky to follow indeed.

As a performance there moments during the first act when the otherwise brilliant William Burden playing the lead role of Michel was drowned by the orchestral sound. But this might well be the only criticism which could be levelled at what had quickly become clear was a hugely engaging dramatic work brought to life by the cast.

Concert performances of opera are perhaps the fairest way of judging too. All too often a composer, his work and the cast will be judged indirectly by the stage production. If the visuals aren’t right then any failings in performance normally overlooked are amplified.

Strip away the stage production to the core requirements – the characters occupying their own individual space on stage with a suggestion of a costume and acting as much as they need to – and attention is focussed on the things which matter: the action and the music. And when audiences are focussed on the action and music, the composer’s has found his short cut to the brain. The audience will be putty in his hand.

Credit must go to the small cast of performers some playing multiple roles in the opera. In opera there’s a judgement to be made on acting as well as singing ability and in this performance it was very difficult to find fault with either in anyone’s contribution. Aside from the glossy perfection of Magdalene Kozena’s Juliette and William Burden’s effortless Michel, Andreas Jaggi’s postman, clerk and police chief were hugely entertaining.

Mention must also go to members of the BBC Singers Olivia Robinson (3rd Man), Margaret Cameron (2nd Man), Michael Bundy (Grandfather) and Lynette Alcantara (Young Sailor) who, frankly, need to be brought to the front of the stage more often. Competent performers with adorable voices.

It is perhaps the fact that I can’t recall much of the music (other than the fact I rather liked it) which speaks the most about Martinu in the final analysis. If a composer can write a score in such a way that the music doesn’t dominate then he’s ticked one very big important box. Clearly Martinu had a realistic understanding how important he was. I do admire that character trait in an individual.

Broadcast information

BBC Radio 3 broadcasts a recording of this performance on Tuesday 31 March at 6.30pm. The broadcast will be available for a further seven days.

Cast (in order of appearance)
Michel William Burden tenor
Little Arab/1st Man/Bellhop Anna Stephany mezzo-soprano
Old Arab/Old Sailor Zdenek Plech bass
Bird-Seller/Fortune-Teller Rosalind Plowright mezzo-soprano
Fish-Seller/Grandmother/Old Lady Jean Rigby mezzo-soprano
Man in Chapska/Father Youth/Convict Frederic Goncalves bass
Man in Hat/Seller of Memories/Blind Beggar/Nightwatchman Roderick Williams baritone
Police Chief/Postman/Clerk Andreas Jaggi tenor
Juliette Magdalena Kozena mezzo-soprano
3rd Man Margaret Cameron mezzo-soprano
2nd Man Olivia Robinson mezzo-soprano
Grandfather Michael Bundy baritone
Young Sailor Lynette Alcantara mezzo-soprano

Doctor Atomic \ ENO \ Adams \ Woolcock

Doctor Atomic @ ENO, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

English National Opera scheduled a history lesson this evening with a performance of John Adam’s Doctor Atomic, one which struggled to rise to the dramatic challenges posed by a plot of which the audience knew the denouement long before the houselights dimmed.

The UK premiere of the opera set in the run up to the testing of the first atomic bomb promised all the weight of Adam’s operatic success Nixon in China. An audience waited to be stunned.

But whilst the first scene delivered a grotesquely unnerving realism combining Adams’ skilfully gargantuan soundscape and the documentary evidence peppered throughout the libretto, the plot quickly gave way to seemingly vast expanses of weak character development on which the success of the work ultimately depended.

Director Penny Woolcock had already conceded in an discussion on Radio 4’s Start The Week this week that protagonist Oppenheimer’s wife had been subject to a certain amount of dramatic licence in the libretto compared to other characters in the work. What grated more however was Oppenheimer’s seemingly rapid move from total absorption in his work to near ecstatic intoxication by the smell of his wife’s hair (we were told it smelt of tobacco, opium and sugar) in the space of ten minutes.

When General Groves demanded a confirmed weather forecast on pain of death in the next scene followed by a detailed account of his daily calorific intake and its impact on his waistline, the reality of a balcony seat began to kick in for some of us. Was it really meant to be making light of the whole affair when the first scene had set some of us on a different path?

Surprisingly, casual disinterest at the beginning of the second half didn’t make the prospect of a further hour and ten minutes totally unbearable, possibly because most looked forward to the visual representation of what the detonation. The sight of the bomb and those busying themselves around it earlier on in the performance may have contributed to a feeling that the entire Manhattan Project had risked being a slightly Heath Robinson affair, but come the blast simplicity saved the day.

The audience rightly applauded faultless soloists and chorus and an orchestra at ease with Adams’ orchestration before running home to read over their programme and look for the next first night to attend.

Vita Nuova \ LPO \ Jurowski \ Martynov

It was an opera, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

In theory, world premieres of anything must surely come with a selection of must-haves including an incomprehensible sound listened to by a confused audience engaging in an internal dialogue about the cost of their ticket, their proximity to the exit and the time of the next train home.

Tonight’s world premiere of Vladimir Martynov’s Vita Nuova (New Life) at London’s Royal Festival Hall might have contained all of these things. One member of the audience was seen walking swiftly out of the auditorium part way through the first half.

The majority of the audience remained throughout the entire performance however, despite what might have seemed on paper at least as an evening of challenging and impenetrable music. After all, if you know you’re going to listen to some new music by a relatively unheard of Russian composer who has in his past explored the avant-garde and serial technique, you’re going to make certain assumptions before you get to the concert hall.

In fairness, there had been a reasonable amount of explanation of Martynov’s musical influences and his intentions for the composition of his opera before the event. It certainly felt like that. But maybe I was just homing in on all the information I could find about the work before I attended it. I do like to go prepared if I’m about to hear something for the first time.

On Thursday 13 February, two days before the assembled company of the London Philharmonic Orchestra, soloists and Europachoraakademie began rehearsing for tonight’s performance, conductor Vladimir Jurowski hedged his bets on what the audience reaction might be in an interview with Tom Service for the Guardian

“ … to be honest, it could end up being a total misunderstanding – or the beginning of a very interesting discussion … Some people will find it confusing, even disgusting. Others, I am sure, will find this piece a revelation.”

It’s difficult to know how anyone would have been disgusted by the work or the performance. Confusion too was unlikely to be on the cards following Jurowski’s pre-performance talk during which a great deal of time given over to defending Martynov’s plundering of musical styles. The work was described by the host of the event as “user-friendly” with “plenty of melodies”. But it was the broad selection of musical influences imitated in nearly all (except for two chords) which Jurwoski explained was a deliberate on the part of the composer.

For Martynov, the second world war marked the end of an era of composing. Traditionally composed music of that which the European tradition had become accustomed to was now at an end. There was nothing more to write. Composers now turned to different compositional techniques as a way of trying to come to terms with what to do next.

Put like that, Martynov’s Vita Nuova was a work which documented the true period of composing, drawing on the works and styles of the past and combining them in a work which set out to make “music about music” combining plainchant, operatic recitative and traditional operatic styles.

Thus Martynov’s setting of Dante’s work La Vita Nuova shaped up to be more of a pragmatic (or possibly shameless) attempt at pulling in audience rather than the potentially powerful statement or call to action Jurowski claimed it might be in his Guardian interview.

One question remained. Was it really an opera ? Jurowski went to great lengths to point out that Martynov’s use of the word (it appeared on the front page of the score titled as an opera) was more a reference to the original meaning of the word – “the work” – than a literal reference conjuring up the kind of opera performances most audiences are accustomed to. .

The finer points of the conductor’s definition were somewhat lost come the performance, however. The use of Dante’s work, with a strong narrative set to music, executed by soloists, chorus and orchestra had all the hallmarks of opera. This combined with subtle stage lighting and a sedately choreographed chorus made the definition undeniably traditional. To all intents and purposes this was opera. Certainly no misunderstanding there.

Even if the resulting mish-mash of musical styles made it sometimes feel like a wander through a musical museum, Martynov may still have achieved something really quite impressive. The Festival Hall saw an impressive box office for tonight’s world premiere. The music was accessible, the story easy to follow and the stage visually engaging despite the cut-down drama of a concert performance.

Even without surtitles or a programme, it wouldn’t have taken much to follow what was going on. There may have been times when a spot of editing might have been in order (especially from the second half of Act 3 onwards) but the vocal work in the soloists, in particular Mark Padmore ensured attention remained squarely on the stage.

Its rich mix of musical styles combined with its simple yet effective staging opportunities make this an opera which has the potential of making anyone setting foot in the concert hall for the first time feel welcome and at ease. And for those of us who haven’t read Dante before, the prospect doesn’t seem anywhere near as daunting as it did before the performance.

Other members of the audience had a slightly different experience. Times Online reviewer Richard Morrison was scathing, Intermezzo seemed less than impressed in the work being “not so new after all” whilst Tweeter @helenium experienced “absolute weirdness, helped along by paedophilia, death and disease”.

Free Thinking Festival: 24 Weeks / Marchant

I spoke to writer Tony Marchant, director Kate Rowland and cast a few hours before Saturday’s performance and recording  of specially commissioned Radio 3 Free Thinking Drama, 24 Weeks. Watch video interview here.

Listen to the drama on the BBC iPlayer here from 1 hour 17 minutes and 30 seconds in. 

**** 

One of the lasting memories of this year’s Free Thinking Festival for me at least will undoubtedly be the time I spent in the company of the production team for Radio 3’s Free Thinking drama “24 Weeks”.

Written by Tony Marchant – his first radio drama – the play tackles the issues surrounding abortion and specifically the 24 week debate. The gritty subject material certainly fits in with Radio 3’s committment to challenging drama but interestingly, this production was to be recorded in front of an audience. What would be the impact of this on the actors and the resulting recording?

The opportunity to sit in on some of the rehearsals proved interesting. I was especially taken by the speed at which the production was put together. The video interviews with Marchant, director Kate Rowland and the cast reveal the almost 36 hour turn around and how the actors were experiencing their first radio drama recording in front of an audience. 

Most striking was the quality of the performances I saw in rehearsal. The play is essentially a two-hander between a married couple – Sarah and Robert. There are various points where raw emotion between the couple powers through as they confront their feelings about Sarah’s pregnancy. 

It was these scenes which prompted an entirely unexpected emotional response in me. Seeing an actor cry on stage in the way that Sean Gallagher (Robert) did during rehearsals resulted in one reaction for me: I cried too. 

The fact that I continued snivelling when the actors finished rehearsing said much for their obvious ability at grappling with the parts. All this after only a day of familiarising themselves with the script.

I did wonder whether my appreciation for the production was skewed because I had access to the production team and cast. It was only when I heard the entire performance back on the radio a night later that I realised my view wasn’t biassed. 

“24 Weeks” was gripping drama and earth-shatteringly executed by it’s stellar cast. OK, so I’m biassed a bit. But I did hear it and I cried that time too.

Up to Liverpool

I’d made a mistake. It wasn’t a four and a half hour journey from London to Liverpool. It was in fact two and a half hours. Not only that, the thought of upgrading to first class was quickly dismissed when a very smart looking attendant standing outside the train advised me that no, on weekdays upgrades to first class were in fact £130 and not £18. I shuffled off feeling a little disappointed.

During the journey there was time to get some footage together for a short clip. Not having a cameraman makes the process more time consuming but still a challenging kind of fun. I’m nearly always surprised about how many more cutaways I need to break up the script. This usually means looking for different ways of shooting what might otherwise be regarded as a fairly dull interior. Bear in mind that rapid moving subjects don’t translate well on the web and very quickly the options are fewer and fewer.

Still, if there’s one thing I’m rather relieved about it’s the brevity of the thing. The Proms videos were over five minutes long nearly every time. Short form content is all about the piece being as short as it possibly can be. For someone who rather likes the sound of his own voice, such a demand can sometimes be a little difficult to meet.

Read up on the opening lecture given by Will Self at the 2008 Free Thinking Festival.

Free Thinking Festival 2008

“You’re a 90 year old man stuck in a 40 year old’s body,” said a new found friend with a wry smile on her face. I corrected her only on the “40 year old” bit. As it happens I am 36 and I also go to the gym three times a week. I may not have the body of twenty-something gym bunny, but I figure I’m doing OK for my age.

Having said that, she’s not entirely incorrect. I was explaining to her how I was looking forward to my weekend jaunt in Liverpool. I’ve got my train booked – a nice four and a half hour journey to the European City of Culture to attend Radio 3’s Free Thinking Festival. I’ll be taking my flask for the journey (yes, really), some sandwiches, and a small weekend suitcase. I love the travel. I love the ocassional weekend away in a hotel. I’m really looking forward to it.

I’ve been to the Free Thinking Festival before and loved it. Initially the prospect of listening to lectures, seminars and debates about a broad range of topics delivered by thinkers, scientists and authors didn’t seem appealing. And yet, only a few hours in Liverpool and I found myself lapping it up.

Attending is one of the many benefits of working at the BBC. You can be working in one division doing your day to day work and then find yourself doing something completely different for an entirely different part of the Corporation. I like that. I value that. It’s something I’m very grateful for.

This year’s event is a little different for me. There’s a personal challenge afoot. Armed with my camera, my laptop and a (hopefully) free internet connection, I’m producing a series of short video reports about various events. There’s a drama being produced over weekend for broadcast on Sunday night, a key note speech from Will Self, a debate about whether computers make us stupid and a discussion about whether our idea of privacy is now redundant in light of social networking tools.

The challenge for me is two-fold. First is the editorial and technical challenge presented by attending a series of events and providing responses to camera immediately afterwards. This is “free thinking” after all. It’s about engaging in the debate, identifying your personal response to a series of ideas proposed by various speakers. That response then needs editing, encoding, checking over and then uploading to the web (all the videos will be at www.youtube.com/thoroughlygood and on this blog).

The second challenge is primarily an editorial one. In comparison to the Proms – where I’ll happily admit I relish the opportunity to be a little tongue-in-cheek - the Free Thinking festival is an entirely different animal. Tongue-in-cheek just doesn’t work at this kind of event. It’s small – intimate in some respects – and it’s a genuine educational experience too. The opportunity to go is a bit like being told I could go back to University and do my degree all over again and not have to pay. The idea of that is a luxury. The opportunity to reflect that using a slightly different language is appealing and also quite a challenge.

Can I pull it off? I’ve absolutely no idea. But I will have a good stab at it. Keep up with what’s going on via Twitter if you fancy or perhaps even check the blog if you’re so inclined. Failing that you could always listen on the radio.

Museum: Victoria and Albert Museum

Whatshisname, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

We went to the Victoria and Albert Museum today to see the Cold War Modern exhibition. Good stuff. Contrary to the sneery man I overheard complaining he felt the exhibition had lost it’s thread part way through, I really liked it – especially the space stuff.

After a brief toilet break, there was just enough time to assess the catering facilities. A special review of the Garden Cafe here.