It would be unfair to expect Camille to live up to the first encounter on seeing her a second time. Her new show, Chameleon, carries on where the previous show left off, and indeed much of the material is the same. Much of the magic is lost on seeing her again. The ad libbed banter, the asides - all are carefully scripted and dropped in with consummate professionalism. But, as with stand-up comics, that's not a reason to criticise. She merely has her act highly polished, and sticks to it.
Nevertheless, in a show of less than an hour and a half, it was a shame to see so much duplicated material, even if it was some of the best songs from the previous time. Tom Waits's All the world is green, Brel's Amsterdam (equally extraordinary performance second time round), Nick Cave's The ship song and Dylan's Don't think twice, it's alright took up a substantial proportion of the show. It would be nice to see the band showcased a little more, as well, and Camille's range of songwriters is limited (all the more irritating given that she asked for repertoire suggestions on her Facebook page a few months back, then slipped into her usual Waits-Cave-Brel-Bowie hitlist).
But to show some irritation at seeing a show without many changes is churlish, as the fact of the matter is that Camille is simply a massive star. She has it all: performing ability, charisma, presence...and a stupendous voice. It was a special moment for me to hear her take on the music of Leonard Cohen, as the two singers are two of the greatest live performances I've ever seen; Tom Waits's God's away on businesswas another highlight. It's a shame that she has outgrown more suitable venues, but sitting in the sixth row, the sparks were exploding in all directions.
Verdict: Not the same seeing her second time round, but damn! this girl can perform.
Saturday, 28 August 2010
Markus Makavellian's International Order - review
The cross-dressing Markus Makavellian (Drew Taylor to his family) flounces onto stage and confides that he's going to talk about poo. Sat in the front row, my heart sank a little: it's an inauspicious start. But things pick up rapidly and Taylor's loosely rhyming writing is red-hot at times, his lines rattling off like slam poetry at times. As a straight male perhaps I wasn't necessarily the main target audience for the show, but it didn't stop my enjoyment: Taylor is engaging and intimate throughout and there are times (the love-letter reading sequence) where the audience's attention is held rapt. Occasionally we drifted into cliché territory but on the whole, the detail of the writing kept this well and truly afloat.
Markus Makavellian's International Order (Drew Taylor/Proud Exposure, Underbelly)
Verdict: tight writing and a flamboyant performance make this a captivating hour after a wobbly start.
Markus Makavellian's International Order (Drew Taylor/Proud Exposure, Underbelly)
Verdict: tight writing and a flamboyant performance make this a captivating hour after a wobbly start.
Impressionist Gardens: asphyxiating colours
I'm not going to bother with preamble. The Impressionist Gardens exhibition at the National Gallery of Scotland is brilliant. It's a thoughtfully curated collection of works leading up to and including the whole Impressionist period, covering gardens and natural outdoor spaces. Quite broad, you would think, and yes: there is a wide range of subject matter, but all showing fine examples of the Impressionists' use of colour and warmth to generate atmosphere.
The first room, Towards the Impressionist Garden, explores some of the work pointing towards the techniques and styles that the Impressionists proper would use, and an increasing obsession with the natural world. The vibrancy and sensuality of Eugene Delacroix's Still life with flowers (1834) - a rust-coloured background highlighting the heady flowers. I also loved Corot's Parc des Lions at Port Marly (1872) with its silver birches dividing a brother and sister.
The largest room displayed a variety of Impressionist works. One that made a real impression on me (sorry) was American painter Mary Cassatt's Summertime (1894) with wonderful depiction of a young girl's shoulder being the highlight. Even more striking, although rather hideous in some ways, was Leon Frederic's The fragrant air; it's not a beautiful depiction of a child, but you can feel the warm air, the smell of the roses, the innocence of the child. It's a startling work. A name new to me was Gaston La Touche; his painting Phlox is a celebration of whites and lights, the sunlight peeking through the leaves and bouncing off the flowers and dresses.
What surprised me was that although there are only a handful of works by the blockbuster names (Monet, Renoir, Manet, etc), the exhibition does not suffer one bit and there is absolutely no feeling of there being and "filler" (which was the problem with the Impressionism & Scotland exhibition at the same gallery a couple of years ago when they padded out the good stuff with a load of Scottish stuff from their own collection). Indeed some Scottish works were amongst the highlights: Arthur Melville's A cabbage garden (1877), placed later within the utilitarian and market gardens section, was one, with its gardener knee-deep in blue-grey cabbages. Belgian James Ensor's The garden of the Rousseau family (1885) also sits in this section, a real magical feeling, not to mention the spooky cabbages looking like eyes.
It can't be said that the blockbusters aren't among the highlights, however. Sitting in a row in the main room are two Monets and a Renoir. Monet's The artist's garden at Argenteuil (a corner of the garden with dahlias) (1873) is an arresting piece: soft light and clouds (the weather has a very British, changeable feel) provide the background, with trees smudging into the sky. The viewer's eyes are drawn into the foreground where vibrant dahlias burst out of the canvas. The garden at Vetheuil, from eight years later, is overwhelmingly busy, with dense layers of dark colours. Renoir is represented by Woman with parasol in a garden, which features a striking dark figure in the background, surrounded by lush vegetation, almost like a jungle. It's this lush greenery which got me thinking, was there much Impressionism in Ireland, particularly in the southwest? The sheer lush intensity of the vegetation in parts of Cork and Kerry, where it's so warm and wet, would seem like ideal targets for French Impressionists, not to mention any local painters.
Other highlights included a Gauguin (Skaters in Frederiksberg Gardens, 1884) where the red autumn leaves highlight the coldness of the ice; Monet's pair of paintings of The parc Monceau in Paris, where he deliberately avoids the brilliant parts to concentrate instead on a shadowy corner; and The rainbow (1896) by Leopold Graf von Kalkreuth, who captures the feeble white sunlight contrasting the dark clouds perfectly. Serene figures shiver as they contemplate the rainbow.
Camille Pissarro is represented by The cote des boeufs at L'Hermitage, 1877, with its winding poplar trees which draw the viewer's eyes from one side to the other in a zigzag motion, and by the perfectly proprtioned The artist's garden at Eragny, also from 1877.
The final rooms, featuring later Impressionist works, are the most dreamlike and fantastical of all. Nature gets sinister with Van Gogh's Undergrowth while a couple of Monet's most misty, dimensionless waterlily works are also exhibited. Henri Le Sidaner - another I'd never heard of - made a wonderful piece called An autumn evening in 1895: an air of soft beige mystery surrounding a woman walking alone at gloomglow in profile. Meanwhile, Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida's The garden of Sorolla's house (1920) is idyllic, with luminist shimmering perfection in a garden framing a dazzling white chair. It's an extraordinary work. Another Van Gogh work, the rather stark, raw Garden with path (1888) feels almost harsh and uncouth by comparison to the earlier lushness (presumably what contemporary critics felt as well!).
The very best is left until last, however, with works of rose gardens on the final wall - four heady, indolent washes of colour and texture: Klimt's Rosebushes under trees is one highlight but my favourite of all is the very final work - another one by Le Sidaner: The rose pavilion, Gerberoy (1938) is a wonderfully evocative work of colour and beauty.
The first room, Towards the Impressionist Garden, explores some of the work pointing towards the techniques and styles that the Impressionists proper would use, and an increasing obsession with the natural world. The vibrancy and sensuality of Eugene Delacroix's Still life with flowers (1834) - a rust-coloured background highlighting the heady flowers. I also loved Corot's Parc des Lions at Port Marly (1872) with its silver birches dividing a brother and sister.
 |
| Mary Cassatt - Summertime (1894) |
 |
| Leon Frederic - The fragrant air |
 |
| Gaston La Touche - Phlox |
What surprised me was that although there are only a handful of works by the blockbuster names (Monet, Renoir, Manet, etc), the exhibition does not suffer one bit and there is absolutely no feeling of there being and "filler" (which was the problem with the Impressionism & Scotland exhibition at the same gallery a couple of years ago when they padded out the good stuff with a load of Scottish stuff from their own collection). Indeed some Scottish works were amongst the highlights: Arthur Melville's A cabbage garden (1877), placed later within the utilitarian and market gardens section, was one, with its gardener knee-deep in blue-grey cabbages. Belgian James Ensor's The garden of the Rousseau family (1885) also sits in this section, a real magical feeling, not to mention the spooky cabbages looking like eyes.
 |
| Monet - The garden at Vetheuil (1881) |
Other highlights included a Gauguin (Skaters in Frederiksberg Gardens, 1884) where the red autumn leaves highlight the coldness of the ice; Monet's pair of paintings of The parc Monceau in Paris, where he deliberately avoids the brilliant parts to concentrate instead on a shadowy corner; and The rainbow (1896) by Leopold Graf von Kalkreuth, who captures the feeble white sunlight contrasting the dark clouds perfectly. Serene figures shiver as they contemplate the rainbow.
 |
| Pissarro - The Cote des boeufs at L'Hermitage, 1877 |
 |
| Joaquin Sorolla y Baptista - The garden of Sorolla's house (1920) |
The final rooms, featuring later Impressionist works, are the most dreamlike and fantastical of all. Nature gets sinister with Van Gogh's Undergrowth while a couple of Monet's most misty, dimensionless waterlily works are also exhibited. Henri Le Sidaner - another I'd never heard of - made a wonderful piece called An autumn evening in 1895: an air of soft beige mystery surrounding a woman walking alone at gloomglow in profile. Meanwhile, Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida's The garden of Sorolla's house (1920) is idyllic, with luminist shimmering perfection in a garden framing a dazzling white chair. It's an extraordinary work. Another Van Gogh work, the rather stark, raw Garden with path (1888) feels almost harsh and uncouth by comparison to the earlier lushness (presumably what contemporary critics felt as well!).
The very best is left until last, however, with works of rose gardens on the final wall - four heady, indolent washes of colour and texture: Klimt's Rosebushes under trees is one highlight but my favourite of all is the very final work - another one by Le Sidaner: The rose pavilion, Gerberoy (1938) is a wonderfully evocative work of colour and beauty.
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
Julien Cottereau - Imagine-toi: more than just bubblegum
My Fringe kicked off on Sunday with Julien Cottereau at the welcome addition to festival venues, the Spiegeltent rip-off run by Assembly (a member of box office staff informed me conspiratorially that they were on strict instructions not to refer to the real Spiegeltent). Cottereau, a mime artist/clown formerly of Cirque du Soleil, has the audience in the palm of his hand for an hour as he creates a host of fantastical characters and situations. From a brilliant extended sequence featuring a piece of imaginary bubblegum, to various animal creations, his only props are a series of audience stooges and his voice, which he uses to concoct all manner of noises. There were times where I didn't understand what was going on, but this is natural - many of the stooges were equally perplexed, and only Cottereau's vocal talents managed to turn rather wooden stomping around into some magical moments. I'll admit that I didn't join the standing ovation at the end, but make no mistake, this is a joyous hour for young and old alike.
Verdict: gentle and uplifting, worth and hour of anyone's time.
Verdict: gentle and uplifting, worth and hour of anyone's time.
Will Glenda put her money where her mouth was?
At the election hustings I attended for Hampstead & Kilburn in April, Labour candidate (and now MP) Glenda Jackson impressed me to a surprising extent - she spoke eloquently on a number of subjects, and I wondered if she was able to shake off her "laziest MP in London" reputation, if she might end up being a half decent representative.
One of the subjects she spoke about most passionately was the electoral system and how it so desperately needs reform; a topic close to my heart. Of all the candidates on stage that evening, she spoke with the most vehemence, gravitas and rhetoric on the subject - and had me totally convinced that she would be a strong proponent of changing the electoral system.
Well, barely three months later and we are looking forward to a vote on the bill to put forward a referendum. Labour, who under Gordon Brown had piped up about being in favour of the Alternative Vote, are demonstrating the destructive, wrecking side of them that we have seen consistently since the election (and are rapidly putting forward the argument that they would be a disaster in any sort of coalition); they are using the "gerrymandering" excuse as the bill also contains elements relating to boundary changes.
Labour will be whipping their MPs to vote against the historic bill. Boundary changes can be argued one way or another, and perhaps it was cheeky to lump everything together in the same bill, but boundaries come and go. A chance to vote on the lame duck electoral system may never come again in our lifetimes. Glenda Jackson is not afraid to vote against her party whips. She should put her money where her mouth was at the hustings and vote in favour of the bill. I intend to speak to her about it before the vote. I hope other local Hampstead & Kilburn residents do the same.
One of the subjects she spoke about most passionately was the electoral system and how it so desperately needs reform; a topic close to my heart. Of all the candidates on stage that evening, she spoke with the most vehemence, gravitas and rhetoric on the subject - and had me totally convinced that she would be a strong proponent of changing the electoral system.
Well, barely three months later and we are looking forward to a vote on the bill to put forward a referendum. Labour, who under Gordon Brown had piped up about being in favour of the Alternative Vote, are demonstrating the destructive, wrecking side of them that we have seen consistently since the election (and are rapidly putting forward the argument that they would be a disaster in any sort of coalition); they are using the "gerrymandering" excuse as the bill also contains elements relating to boundary changes.
Labour will be whipping their MPs to vote against the historic bill. Boundary changes can be argued one way or another, and perhaps it was cheeky to lump everything together in the same bill, but boundaries come and go. A chance to vote on the lame duck electoral system may never come again in our lifetimes. Glenda Jackson is not afraid to vote against her party whips. She should put her money where her mouth was at the hustings and vote in favour of the bill. I intend to speak to her about it before the vote. I hope other local Hampstead & Kilburn residents do the same.
Thrilling Brandenburgs from Gardiner topped by stupendous brass
An early start to queue for day seats meant that the hangover battle was marginally tougher than usual, but a local Sloane Square caff's bacon roll did the job and a tenner to hear John Eliot Gardiner and the English Baroque Soloists is a bargain not to pass up.
To my knowledge, I've never seen a Gardiner concert performance before - and it was worth waiting for: the Brandenburg Concertos are, for my money, about as close to musical perfection as you can get. I've known them back-to-front since I was about two feet high thanks to sitting on my dad's knee listening to Menuhin and Pinnock recordings (with the odd Wigmore trip thrown in). You'd never have anything at the Wigmore resembling the chaos of getting the audience into the auditorium in the first place at the Cadogan Hall though: they hadn't manage to get the audience completely in by the time the concert started. I promoted a concert there about four years ago and it was similarly shambolic; they no longer have the excuse of being a new venue.
We kicked thing off with the Concerto No 1, never one of my favourites, and it was a thrilling ride. Gardiner launched into the opening movement at a breakneck pace and the exhilaration never let up. It was a quite extraordinary performance. Swooping changes in colour and dynamics, a perfectly balanced second movement, and crisp main themes were excellent. Dominating everything were the horns. They hurled themselves into the fray, thrashing out cross rhythms like their lives depended on it. The music around may have been refined; the horns bullied and harried, "hooligans breaking up the party" as Gardiner observed during his excellent, and lengthy, discussions with Catherine Bott during the shifting of chairs between pieces. But these weren't modern French horns, but old-school hunting horns - nigh-on impossible to play. Both players demonstrated incredible technical skill - particularly Anneke Scott, whose trills and virtuosity were out of this world.
The slow movement was perfectly balanced, but it was in the beautiful polonaise, buried deep within the menuets (and shortly before the ludicrous horn & oboe trio), which provided one of the moments of the entire concert: following the lulling of the strings with their appoggiatura-like duplets, halfway through, where it breaks into a dance (you know the bit): suddenly, the strings crackled into electric staccato. My jaw nearly hit the floor - it was another thrilling moment. As Wagner once said of Beethoven's seventh symphony, it was the apotheosis of the dance. As a whole, the first concerto was a spectacular success.
The sixth was up next. Never a blockbuster, I've always had a soft spot for it thanks to its unique colours - dark yellows, mauves and browns provided by the instrumentation. With no natural high voices, the violas, gambas and cellos provide a rather oblique feel. The key (B flat) heightens the effect. The first movement, which has no real tune but is just a wash of dark tonal colour in languid, almost turgid rhythms, is almost impressionistic and I can think of no other piece like it. The group, now conductorless, played the colours up marvellously. The final movement, once again, as with so many of the Brandenburgs (as Gardiner emphasised) provided the EBS to show off their dance music making skills.
All the Brandenburgs are special to me but the fourth is especially close to my heart and was a disappointment. Kati Debretzeni was very accomplished in the virtuoso violin role, but I found Rachel Beckett and Catherine Latham - especially Beckett - extremely dull. The first movement plodded along, with one-dimensional staccato-by-numbers recorder playing, with little variation in tone or style. After the joys of what we had heard so far, I felt let down. The slow movement was similarly uninspiring, with only some excellent orchestral balance making up for dull solo playing. Only in the presto finale did the piece really spring to life - sparkling virtuosity from Debretzeni in the background supporting bubbly recorder solo lines. A wonderful ritornello came out of nowhere shortly before the end, reminding us that however brilliant the soloists might be, Gardiner remains the star of the show.
Technically, the day was split into two separate concerts, so after finding a paella stall just off Sloane Square (the only place that served something more promising than rocket ciabattas) it was time to go back for the second part. Among a set of some of the best music ever written, the third shades it as my favourite of all with its perfectly balanced nine solo strings and incredible fugal lines. This, too, was a riveting performance. We heard a lengthy violin improvisation as the non-existent slow movement (perhaps a bit of a partita); various conductors have done "all kinds of wanky things" according to Gardiner (Catherine Bott did well to keep her composure at this point, with producers doubtless falling off their chairs).
As wonderful as the melodies are throughout the Brandenburgs, the best thing of all is the harmonies and most of all the driving pedal basslines. None more so than in the third, where the tension is ratcheted up to fracture point at times with the bass. Although a soloist in the third, special mention must be made of the principal cellist (I will have to wait until I get back to London to check my programme for his name) whose continuo playing I thought was superb.
Gardiner and Bott indulged in some cringeworthy flogging of dead horses in repeatedly describing the music as "funky". They're really "boogying down", we were told. Set toes to curl and ears to shut. That said, I could see an obvious comparison: in the late 70s and early 80s, heavy metal guitar solos became ever more lengthy, virtuosic and gratuitous - and self-indulgently brilliant; I can't think of a better way to describe the harpsichord solo in the fifth. Ever since I was a kid I've loved the way the rest of the band gets out of the way to admire the harpsichord and this was no exception. The slow movement of the fifth always strikes me as the only movement in the entire catalogue that is genuinely dull - although the dainty last movement makes up for it.
We finished on a high note with some facemelting natural trumpet playing from Neil Brough in the second concerto, with oboe, violin and recorder providing able support. Brough didn't put a note wrong throughout and the final movement's lightning pace was a fitting way to finish.
To my knowledge, I've never seen a Gardiner concert performance before - and it was worth waiting for: the Brandenburg Concertos are, for my money, about as close to musical perfection as you can get. I've known them back-to-front since I was about two feet high thanks to sitting on my dad's knee listening to Menuhin and Pinnock recordings (with the odd Wigmore trip thrown in). You'd never have anything at the Wigmore resembling the chaos of getting the audience into the auditorium in the first place at the Cadogan Hall though: they hadn't manage to get the audience completely in by the time the concert started. I promoted a concert there about four years ago and it was similarly shambolic; they no longer have the excuse of being a new venue.
We kicked thing off with the Concerto No 1, never one of my favourites, and it was a thrilling ride. Gardiner launched into the opening movement at a breakneck pace and the exhilaration never let up. It was a quite extraordinary performance. Swooping changes in colour and dynamics, a perfectly balanced second movement, and crisp main themes were excellent. Dominating everything were the horns. They hurled themselves into the fray, thrashing out cross rhythms like their lives depended on it. The music around may have been refined; the horns bullied and harried, "hooligans breaking up the party" as Gardiner observed during his excellent, and lengthy, discussions with Catherine Bott during the shifting of chairs between pieces. But these weren't modern French horns, but old-school hunting horns - nigh-on impossible to play. Both players demonstrated incredible technical skill - particularly Anneke Scott, whose trills and virtuosity were out of this world.
The slow movement was perfectly balanced, but it was in the beautiful polonaise, buried deep within the menuets (and shortly before the ludicrous horn & oboe trio), which provided one of the moments of the entire concert: following the lulling of the strings with their appoggiatura-like duplets, halfway through, where it breaks into a dance (you know the bit): suddenly, the strings crackled into electric staccato. My jaw nearly hit the floor - it was another thrilling moment. As Wagner once said of Beethoven's seventh symphony, it was the apotheosis of the dance. As a whole, the first concerto was a spectacular success.
The sixth was up next. Never a blockbuster, I've always had a soft spot for it thanks to its unique colours - dark yellows, mauves and browns provided by the instrumentation. With no natural high voices, the violas, gambas and cellos provide a rather oblique feel. The key (B flat) heightens the effect. The first movement, which has no real tune but is just a wash of dark tonal colour in languid, almost turgid rhythms, is almost impressionistic and I can think of no other piece like it. The group, now conductorless, played the colours up marvellously. The final movement, once again, as with so many of the Brandenburgs (as Gardiner emphasised) provided the EBS to show off their dance music making skills.
All the Brandenburgs are special to me but the fourth is especially close to my heart and was a disappointment. Kati Debretzeni was very accomplished in the virtuoso violin role, but I found Rachel Beckett and Catherine Latham - especially Beckett - extremely dull. The first movement plodded along, with one-dimensional staccato-by-numbers recorder playing, with little variation in tone or style. After the joys of what we had heard so far, I felt let down. The slow movement was similarly uninspiring, with only some excellent orchestral balance making up for dull solo playing. Only in the presto finale did the piece really spring to life - sparkling virtuosity from Debretzeni in the background supporting bubbly recorder solo lines. A wonderful ritornello came out of nowhere shortly before the end, reminding us that however brilliant the soloists might be, Gardiner remains the star of the show.
Technically, the day was split into two separate concerts, so after finding a paella stall just off Sloane Square (the only place that served something more promising than rocket ciabattas) it was time to go back for the second part. Among a set of some of the best music ever written, the third shades it as my favourite of all with its perfectly balanced nine solo strings and incredible fugal lines. This, too, was a riveting performance. We heard a lengthy violin improvisation as the non-existent slow movement (perhaps a bit of a partita); various conductors have done "all kinds of wanky things" according to Gardiner (Catherine Bott did well to keep her composure at this point, with producers doubtless falling off their chairs).
As wonderful as the melodies are throughout the Brandenburgs, the best thing of all is the harmonies and most of all the driving pedal basslines. None more so than in the third, where the tension is ratcheted up to fracture point at times with the bass. Although a soloist in the third, special mention must be made of the principal cellist (I will have to wait until I get back to London to check my programme for his name) whose continuo playing I thought was superb.
Gardiner and Bott indulged in some cringeworthy flogging of dead horses in repeatedly describing the music as "funky". They're really "boogying down", we were told. Set toes to curl and ears to shut. That said, I could see an obvious comparison: in the late 70s and early 80s, heavy metal guitar solos became ever more lengthy, virtuosic and gratuitous - and self-indulgently brilliant; I can't think of a better way to describe the harpsichord solo in the fifth. Ever since I was a kid I've loved the way the rest of the band gets out of the way to admire the harpsichord and this was no exception. The slow movement of the fifth always strikes me as the only movement in the entire catalogue that is genuinely dull - although the dainty last movement makes up for it.
We finished on a high note with some facemelting natural trumpet playing from Neil Brough in the second concerto, with oboe, violin and recorder providing able support. Brough didn't put a note wrong throughout and the final movement's lightning pace was a fitting way to finish.
Monday, 23 August 2010
Reviews: Daniel Kitson "It's Always Right Now Until It's Later" a winner but Grandage directs limp "Danton's Death"
It's Always Right Now Until It's Later (Daniel Kitson, BAC/Traverse) ****
Danton's Death (National Theatre) **
Daniel Kitson is the master of coaxing the most out of something so tiny that after an hour and a half in his company, you feel you'll be able to spot something idiosyncratic or beautiful in the tiniest thing you pass. It's Always Right Now... is typical Kitson fare these days, to be honest, and if you've seen any of his more recent material this will have a familiar ring to it. But that doesn't detract from it in the slightest. The night I went was the final preview night at the Battersea Arts Centre, before he transferred to the Traverse in Edinburgh for a (more expensive!) run which is currently in progress. He warned that it might be slightly shambolic, which is was at times, but not in a bad way. Kitson remains incredibly nervous, and was easily put off by shuffles in the audience; eventually this developed into a full-blown heckle from some bell-end sat next to me. As I pointed out to him afterwards, Daniel Kitson hasn't done stand-up since about 2004 (his complaint) but (as the knobwhiff found out) he is possibly the greatest exponent of putting down heckles in the world. The turbomong was duly despatched with, with savage efficacy.
Back to the show. Kitson tells the tale of two lives, independent of one another, in fleeting moments: falling off a bike, or a moment on a bus. It's loose and sprawling, but the tenderness with which he spins his yarns, and acute social observations, make it an utterly compelling 90 minutes. I emerged wide-eyed and inspired to look for more beauty in the mundane: if Kitson has a message, it is that all our lives are extraordinary. Which is an inspiring thought in itself.
Donmar Warehouse director Michael Grandage has been exalted to near-legendary status in recent years with some brilliant productions: I can vouch that his Othello with Chiwetel Ejiofor and Ewan MacGregor, Hamlet with Jude Law, Ivanov with Kenneth Branagh and Twelfth Night with Derek Jacobi were all superb.
With Danton's Death, however, Grandage hits a massive dud. It is a lengthy French Revolution saga which is completely one-dimensional (lots of shouting) and linear (brave revolutionaries jockey for position and make "inspiring" speeches, ad infinitum). Toby Stephens as Danton is completely indistinguishable from the rest of the cast, and the only memorable feature, a nice guillotining gimmick at the end, only goes a small way to recouping the time wasted in seeing this show. Avoid.
Danton's Death (National Theatre) **
Daniel Kitson is the master of coaxing the most out of something so tiny that after an hour and a half in his company, you feel you'll be able to spot something idiosyncratic or beautiful in the tiniest thing you pass. It's Always Right Now... is typical Kitson fare these days, to be honest, and if you've seen any of his more recent material this will have a familiar ring to it. But that doesn't detract from it in the slightest. The night I went was the final preview night at the Battersea Arts Centre, before he transferred to the Traverse in Edinburgh for a (more expensive!) run which is currently in progress. He warned that it might be slightly shambolic, which is was at times, but not in a bad way. Kitson remains incredibly nervous, and was easily put off by shuffles in the audience; eventually this developed into a full-blown heckle from some bell-end sat next to me. As I pointed out to him afterwards, Daniel Kitson hasn't done stand-up since about 2004 (his complaint) but (as the knobwhiff found out) he is possibly the greatest exponent of putting down heckles in the world. The turbomong was duly despatched with, with savage efficacy.
Back to the show. Kitson tells the tale of two lives, independent of one another, in fleeting moments: falling off a bike, or a moment on a bus. It's loose and sprawling, but the tenderness with which he spins his yarns, and acute social observations, make it an utterly compelling 90 minutes. I emerged wide-eyed and inspired to look for more beauty in the mundane: if Kitson has a message, it is that all our lives are extraordinary. Which is an inspiring thought in itself.
Donmar Warehouse director Michael Grandage has been exalted to near-legendary status in recent years with some brilliant productions: I can vouch that his Othello with Chiwetel Ejiofor and Ewan MacGregor, Hamlet with Jude Law, Ivanov with Kenneth Branagh and Twelfth Night with Derek Jacobi were all superb.
With Danton's Death, however, Grandage hits a massive dud. It is a lengthy French Revolution saga which is completely one-dimensional (lots of shouting) and linear (brave revolutionaries jockey for position and make "inspiring" speeches, ad infinitum). Toby Stephens as Danton is completely indistinguishable from the rest of the cast, and the only memorable feature, a nice guillotining gimmick at the end, only goes a small way to recouping the time wasted in seeing this show. Avoid.
Sunday, 8 August 2010
Lush, but it ain't Tchaikovsky, Valery
World Orchestra For Peace/Gergiev - Mahler: Symphonies 4 & 5 (Proms, RAH) ****
An hour's queueing was enough to secure a gallery place to watch the world's greatest all-star orchestra on Thursday night. It felt like seeing the Harlem Globetrotters - the fact that it was Gergiev and Mahler made the gig that little bit extra tantalising. The result: a wonderful performance...but memorable Mahler it was not.
The Fourth Symphony isn't one of the blockbusters, indeed it's not one I'm particularly familiar with. The opening was arresting, with an exaggerated tempo change to the string line. Decidedly microtonal intonation marred the second movement - there seemed to be some problem with one of the horns. The third movement passed without incident; the end of the movement is bizarre, with a clashing gears tempo change and unexpected modulation late on. Camilla Tilling's soprano was beautiful throughout the finale, although solo vocals don't carry well up to the rarefied atmosphere in the gallery.
Throughout, the tones produced by the musicians were out of this world. The combined orchestral colours sounded like the Albert Hall organ at times, such was the richness of the sonorities. Strings were superb throughout. Aristocratic horns and clotted cream heavy brass (I particularly liked the tuba), but things were too measured, especially in the Fifth. The oboes didn't yowl, the clarinets weren't petulant enough. The first movement of the Fifth was taken at a majestically sombre pace, the triplets given paramount importance. I liked the interpretation. The second movement had some wonderful moments, notably the exposed cello line which was spinetingling (even hearing it puts an amateur cellist into jitters, it's a horribly stressful passage to play!). The gigantic Ländler, a wild, rough jamboree, had too many ballet shoes and not enough clogs. As the movement progresses, it flirts with bitonality, and can feel like a party that's gone out of control as the harmonies and crossrhythms descent into anarchy. There was none of that here. The Adagietto was perfectly balanced, and The Greatest Note In All Music welcoming in the final movement was as pure as can be. Only then, in the final movement, did the orchestra sound truly Mahlerian. There was a swagger in the woodwind and aggression in the brass that had been lacking somewhat.
Had we been hearing Tchaikovsky, this would have been a stupendous performance. As it was, the evening was a masterclass in tight, marshalled orchestral playing. But a little more Mahlerian entropy would not have gone amiss.
An hour's queueing was enough to secure a gallery place to watch the world's greatest all-star orchestra on Thursday night. It felt like seeing the Harlem Globetrotters - the fact that it was Gergiev and Mahler made the gig that little bit extra tantalising. The result: a wonderful performance...but memorable Mahler it was not.
The Fourth Symphony isn't one of the blockbusters, indeed it's not one I'm particularly familiar with. The opening was arresting, with an exaggerated tempo change to the string line. Decidedly microtonal intonation marred the second movement - there seemed to be some problem with one of the horns. The third movement passed without incident; the end of the movement is bizarre, with a clashing gears tempo change and unexpected modulation late on. Camilla Tilling's soprano was beautiful throughout the finale, although solo vocals don't carry well up to the rarefied atmosphere in the gallery.
Throughout, the tones produced by the musicians were out of this world. The combined orchestral colours sounded like the Albert Hall organ at times, such was the richness of the sonorities. Strings were superb throughout. Aristocratic horns and clotted cream heavy brass (I particularly liked the tuba), but things were too measured, especially in the Fifth. The oboes didn't yowl, the clarinets weren't petulant enough. The first movement of the Fifth was taken at a majestically sombre pace, the triplets given paramount importance. I liked the interpretation. The second movement had some wonderful moments, notably the exposed cello line which was spinetingling (even hearing it puts an amateur cellist into jitters, it's a horribly stressful passage to play!). The gigantic Ländler, a wild, rough jamboree, had too many ballet shoes and not enough clogs. As the movement progresses, it flirts with bitonality, and can feel like a party that's gone out of control as the harmonies and crossrhythms descent into anarchy. There was none of that here. The Adagietto was perfectly balanced, and The Greatest Note In All Music welcoming in the final movement was as pure as can be. Only then, in the final movement, did the orchestra sound truly Mahlerian. There was a swagger in the woodwind and aggression in the brass that had been lacking somewhat.
Had we been hearing Tchaikovsky, this would have been a stupendous performance. As it was, the evening was a masterclass in tight, marshalled orchestral playing. But a little more Mahlerian entropy would not have gone amiss.
Wednesday, 4 August 2010
5 year old Gouda tops bill at cheese party
Last Thursday I hosted a Cheese, Port & Chess night. It was a throwback to uni halls, where a few of us used to waste all manner of late-night time playing chess and necking cheap port - most of the same crew were in attendance again. The eventual winner was a guy who wasn't part of that original Linstead crew but used to be some kind of U12s champion back-in-the-day.
We added a cheese element to the night and boy did the lads make an effort. Pretty much everyone turned up not only with a bottle of port but with a piece of cheese or two. we ended up with nigh-on twenty cheeses to choose from. A week later and my fridge is still rammed. Rachel and I emptied our wallets in Whole Foods Market, coming away with a selection of things. Others ventured elsewhere including Borough Market. as someone pointed out, there was almost no doubling up.
Highlights included:
We added a cheese element to the night and boy did the lads make an effort. Pretty much everyone turned up not only with a bottle of port but with a piece of cheese or two. we ended up with nigh-on twenty cheeses to choose from. A week later and my fridge is still rammed. Rachel and I emptied our wallets in Whole Foods Market, coming away with a selection of things. Others ventured elsewhere including Borough Market. as someone pointed out, there was almost no doubling up.
Highlights included:
- a 5 year old Gouda - with almost fudge-like colour and texture, and an incredible dark nutty flavour
- some knock-your-face-off Gorgonzola
- something prehistoric wrapped in leaves, mould and stench, which must have been smuggled past customs
- Brie de Melun (puts your normal Brie de Meaux to shame)
- a lovely light creamy cheese from Borough laced with chilli
- some tasty Gruyère
- Saint Felicien
- Fourme d'Ambert
- Camembert
- a nice Caerphilly
- a massive chunk of Manchego
- a Crottin de Chavignol
- and an excellent Stilton.
Port highlights included a nice white port, and a Dow's 1991 which I'd been saving up for a while. Sadly, there aren't any photos of the night, but a lot of good memories.
The only problem is, if I ever have the good fortune to have a stag night, how can I top it?
Thursday, 15 July 2010
One-on-One Festival (part deux): Ontroerend Goed leave the best until last
*** Edit, February 2011 - if you're thinking about going to the 2011 One-on-One Festival, you might not want to read this, because it's a little bit spoilerish. Suffice to say that the essential shows I saw last time, and which are coming back, are the two Ontroerend Goed shows ("Internal" and "A Game of You"), "Rotating in a Room of Images" and "Rendez-Vous", all of which are outstanding ***
What a week this has been. The emotional rollercoaster of seeing the One-On-One Festival on Sunday (read that review before this one if you haven't already), the horror of Carmen Funebre, then last night a trip back to BAC to further the experiences of the other day. With it, I was hoping for some sort of closure. Closure I got.
Throughout, the key element is you the audience member; so much depends on your ability to cast yourself loose on the waves and allow yourself to be taken over by the performance, to slip into character as required. You need to be able to let your imagination run away with you pretty quickly, too: most performances are over in a matter of minutes. Those whose lack of imagination boxes them in are unlikely to benefit. In virtually every show, I came out wondering what would have happened if I had done things differently.
A Game Of You (Ontroerend Goed) *****
After the frustration of the two previous shows, the musings, wondering "what if I had said something else?", wondering if the performances were unique to me, feeling self-centred and infuriatingly full of self-doubt, I was a little nervous before seeing A Game Of You. I purposely avoided any reviews or previews; my experience of Internal was slightly dampened by the fact I had a fair suspicion of what was to follow (not that I didn't fall into the trap). This turned out to be the key.
As a result, I won't say much about the content - there's no need for spoilers. Suffice to say that as with the other parts of the trilogy, you are played for a fool the whole way along; I walked out with a huge, imbecile grin on my face as I realised how I had been used as a plaything for half an hour. But as the company seem at pains to point out, this is a gentle piece. They have a lot of fun at your expense, but it's light teasing, not cruelty. Events move fast - you end up evaluating yourself in many different ways. A microcosm of the whole festival, you the audience equals you the performer and by placing yourself at the centre of attention, you will learn some things that perhaps you rather wouldn't.
I found out that my name is Steven, I am an artist, and I look like I spilled my dinner down my t-shirt. Tough times.
And yet seeing A Game Of You, as well as a long conversation with somebody else who'd been at Internal, confirmed something that I'd already wondered about: the Ontroerend Goed performers - barely older than me - are the masters of making you a pawn in their world, chewing you up, spitting you out, throwing you around for a while and then dumping you. They have a frighteningly powerful influence over people - shades of The Manchurian Candidate. They would be dangerous tyrants. But they aren't, they'er just frighteningly talented artists, and in the Smile Off Your Face-Internal-A Game Of You trilogy, they've created one of the top five artistic experiences I've ever had in my life.
And the feeling of being manipulated, that I had been a sucker all along, slowly gave way from one of intense self-pity to one of relief, and I started to laugh.
"He hath been most notoriously abus'd" - Olivia, Twelfth Night
2 Free (Ansuman Biswas) ****
Half an hour of breaking personal boundaries and entering situations which you would never wish to be in. Armed with a sand timer and a lantern, the participant explores a space where only by crossing the discomfort line can you experience the next stage of the show. In contrast to Ontroerend Goed, here you are on your own; there is no twist, nobody to laugh at you (which is just as well). This is about testing your own personal limits. What was it Eleanor Roosevelt said? "Do one thing every day that scares you." I let my imagination run riot. The figure in front of me - why was he there? What was his purpose? What did he need from me? How long had he been there? What should I do?
It was a deeply unsettling experience throughout, but I was proud to have overcome my doubts and inhibitions and proved my strength. The opportunity to test your inner mettle in a private half hour where nobody will judge you but yourself, is very enlightening.
Oh, and a tip: don't start emptying out the bag. You won't be popular!
Headlines (Ampersand) ****
Short and sharp. Swept off my feet and thrown into character in seconds, I had to respond instantly, and made a decent fist of it. It's a simple principle: you're thrown into an improv situation with no time to react. Again, nobody is watching except yourself, so there is nobody to judge you. Each day is a unique show; I was Ken Clarke's junior minister for the day, having to justify Clarke's statement that prison sentences should be scrapped for minor crimes. Again, as with so many shows, mental dexterity is required on the part of the participant. A bit of me wishes I had got irate and told my constituent to "fuck off and die". Ah well, next time.
I also played a minor role in a performance of The Fifteen Minute Relationship, and went Through The Wardrobe a second time; I found myself surprised to enjoy it more second time round.
------------------------
Over the last few days I have faced my own death and realised what a miserable life I've led, fallen in false love, gone through a portal to the past, gone into a dressing-up Narnia, been "notoriously abus'd" by Belgian geniuses, battled through intense discomfort, had a karaoke moment with a serving soldier, judged and been judged, laughed, cried, appreciated the inner beauty of something raw and functional, and generally seen myself from more different angles than I could possibly imagine. As others have said, as individual pieces, some were more self-contained and complete than others. But the whole festival hangs together brilliantly; let's hope it's not the last. Most importantly: damn, it was a lot of fun.
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
15 years on, Carmen Funebre is just as terrifying
Carmen Funebre (Teatr Biuro Podrozy; National Theatre) *****
I saw Carmen Funebre in 1995 in a school playground as part of the Edinburgh Festival. I was twelve at the time and it made a huge impression on me; dark, robed, hooded figures appearing out of nowhere at lightning speed with fire and whips, like demons. They were menacing and I've had vivid images of them ever since. But much of what the work was about was lost on me, and with the exception of those demons, which were burned onto my retinas, the memories were starting to fade.
Fifteen years later, the show, from Polish group Biuro Podrozy, is still a hit worldwide and is back on these shores at the National Theatre. My attention was drawn by a tweet from the NT highlighting last night's "priceless preview" (ie pay what you think it's worth) and at the very last minute, I shovelled down some food, grabbed my girlfriend and hurried down to Waterloo. It was a real impromptu trip. Would it be worth seeing again?
Subtle it ain't. While the events it's based on - the atrocities in Bosnia in the nineties - may not be foremost in people's minds in this country any longer, the horrors portrayed are universal. The ten-foot hooded demons scoured the audience and plucked out their victims, who were summarily beaten and gang-raped - the defiling of a woman superbly intimated by means of the contents of a bottle of wine. Refugees attempted to create normal lives for themselves and were soon harassed by the soldiers. The wounded dragged their way around the set, rattling coins in tins, seeking succour from the audience. There was none. The figure of Death prowled around the surrounding horrors, forking the flaccid imagery of the dead for the peasants to burn. Thunderous strings alternated with a cheerful accordion.
It's a universal commentary - although no comment is required; the images are simple and brutal. Having seen Carmen Funebre more than half my life ago, I can say that it's just as terrifying as an adult. But it resonates even more.
I saw Carmen Funebre in 1995 in a school playground as part of the Edinburgh Festival. I was twelve at the time and it made a huge impression on me; dark, robed, hooded figures appearing out of nowhere at lightning speed with fire and whips, like demons. They were menacing and I've had vivid images of them ever since. But much of what the work was about was lost on me, and with the exception of those demons, which were burned onto my retinas, the memories were starting to fade.
Fifteen years later, the show, from Polish group Biuro Podrozy, is still a hit worldwide and is back on these shores at the National Theatre. My attention was drawn by a tweet from the NT highlighting last night's "priceless preview" (ie pay what you think it's worth) and at the very last minute, I shovelled down some food, grabbed my girlfriend and hurried down to Waterloo. It was a real impromptu trip. Would it be worth seeing again?Subtle it ain't. While the events it's based on - the atrocities in Bosnia in the nineties - may not be foremost in people's minds in this country any longer, the horrors portrayed are universal. The ten-foot hooded demons scoured the audience and plucked out their victims, who were summarily beaten and gang-raped - the defiling of a woman superbly intimated by means of the contents of a bottle of wine. Refugees attempted to create normal lives for themselves and were soon harassed by the soldiers. The wounded dragged their way around the set, rattling coins in tins, seeking succour from the audience. There was none. The figure of Death prowled around the surrounding horrors, forking the flaccid imagery of the dead for the peasants to burn. Thunderous strings alternated with a cheerful accordion.
It's a universal commentary - although no comment is required; the images are simple and brutal. Having seen Carmen Funebre more than half my life ago, I can say that it's just as terrifying as an adult. But it resonates even more.
Tuesday, 13 July 2010
More Edinburgh Festival 2010 tips
A few more shows that have come to my attention over the last couple of weeks in the 2010 Fringe:
Metamorphosis (Belt Up) - C Soco
Beautiful Burnout (Frantic Assembly/National Theatre of Scotland) - Pleasance
Roadkill - Traverse
Freefall (Corn Exchange Theatre Co) - Traverse
Cirque de Legume - Gilded Balloon
I've only seen one Frantic Assembly production (Stockholm) which was excellent, and have meant to see other things; reviews are consistently good. Meanwhile, Aurora Nova may be no more, but Wolfgang Hoffman started up Aurora Nova Productions in 2009. They are producing Cirque de Legume; if it's good enough for Hoffman, it's good enough for me.
I know I mentioned other shows previously, but just so I can see them in one handy place, these are the other things that appeal to me:
Sub Rosa - Remarkable Arts
Ballet Work No 1020 - Traverse
Jack the Knife - Assembly
Teenage Riot (Ontroerend Goed) - Traverse
Decky Does A Bronco (Grid Iron) - Traverse
En Route - Traverse
The Girl in the yellow Dress - Traverse
Apple - Traverse
no child - assembly
Tripod vs The Dragon - Assembly
Pajama Men - Assembly
Camille O'Sullivan - Assembly
I'll keep adding to that list as I hear about things. Wallet constraints mean that I'll need to be selective, unfortunately! If anyone hears of any freebies/cheapies (not likely, given that I won't be up until the 21st), then let me know...x
PS I still have to take issue with prices. Almost everything is more expensive than in London; this should not be.
PS I still have to take issue with prices. Almost everything is more expensive than in London; this should not be.
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