Chris Lamb’s Hideaway

Chopin was born in March 1810. Which means this month is the 200 year anniversary of his landing amongst us.

It has received a lot of coverage but Classical music is not really mainstream any longer and it is possible to forget it exists if you don’t go looking for it. If you do stumble across it you may still miss it – many people immediately switch to Chris Moyles or Drivetime as soon as anything classical comes onto the radio.

And, I believe, understandably so. Too much has been made of “authenticity” in the classical world. By this I mean authenticity in the same way as the modern church is authentic to the time of Christ. Basically, not at all.

Classical music is still Music and too often the presentation and attitude are considered it’s equal.

Ultimately, classical music is just too darned difficult for people. They assume they should like all Classical Music – which is unrealistic. I know people who buy albums and force themselves to listen in the belief some divine light shall come on, they shall be filled with the passion of Beethoven and all music will suddenly change for them.

Well, that usually is not the case. Some people love Chopin, others criticise it for it’s romanticism and sentimentality. Classical music is a very, very broad base of music and moods. Often people simply need to hear one or two pieces, frequently in film scores, before they realise how incredible the music of past generations was. It is somehow perceived that modern film scores and orchestral pieces are not “Classical”. Trying to define what Classical music is, unfortunately, is way beyond the worlds great musical intellects. Let alone me.

All of which is counter-productive. I simply wanted to say that I frequently need to hear certain composers and pieces of music. Chopin, Mozart, Tchaikovsky and Bach are the composers I listen to most frequently, now. Amongst many others. Combined with Blues guitar, classical guitar lessons and Spotify – it makes up most of my musical appetite.

So, my recommendation for Chopin is to listen to it all. However, a quick intro is available by listening to these pieces:

The “Raindrop” prelude – filmed near me at Hopetoun House, Edinburgh

Prelude Number 4 – in the same vein, musically.

Fantasie – a bit more upbeat and a female performer in suitably classical gown.

Do yourself a favour, always cancel the comments on YouTube. The puke people pour out via their little keyboards is the price we have to pay for a free service. Al least it means the freaks are indoors and aren’t following cheerleaders home along dark alleyways.

I am forever coming across “Quotations” online.

Snippets and sound-bites supposed to flatter the author and show a caustic wit or enviable insight.

I usually just glimpse at them. However, after reading through a few stories about Zimbabwe, Iraq, Georgia and Afghanistan this morning, I came across this from Voltaire:

“It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.”

Maybe it is simply because it is so easily reported now that the massive amount religious and racially motivated violence seems to be multiplying. Perhaps it also works the other way around. Possibly the worlds poor and downtrodden are sick of seeing our profligacy and want their own piece of the action.

Whatever – it seems a very ugly world at the current moment in time. We seem numb to the massive carnage spreading around in our wake yet manage to start a new “campaign” with almost every single murder in our own vicinity. Surely we need a more balanced world view?

Know what I particularly love about Politicians?

As soon as things go wrong for others, they immediately “demand” a resignation.

Yet, when they are found wanting, they try to sidestep it by hiding behind the argument that they shall be accountable to the electorate.

Or – just as often – simply ignoring any criticism of their ineptitude altogether.

I am not sure if it is only a celebration in Edinburgh or is a national “day” but we are being urged to carry a poem to try and celebrate poetry and raise the profile of the importance of poetry and writing.

So I decided to put a poem online. I am lucky that I can remember a few I like in my head. The poem I am choosing is possibly quite unusual for a man in a good mood to choose on a Saturday morning. It is written with a female voice and is about grief of a lost partner.

I remember hearing this a long time ago and not knowing the source. Then I heard Shiela Hancock recite it in a programme she made about her life after the death of John Thaw.

It is almost perfect at capturing the loneliness, anger and hopelessness brought by grief and I hope it is not too pessimistic.

Sonnet II

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year’s bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!

There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,—so with his memory they brim!
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

–
Edna St. Vincent Millay

I have just read the news article on the failure of a legal bid by a “christian” BA employee to have the “right” to wear a cross on a chain.

The feeling of martyrdom is one which seems to be popular and very common among religious people. Indeed, it is almost a rite of passage to appear to be suffering for your belief.

Which is strange for a group of people in a wealthy, 21st Century nation which has legally protected and awarded privilege to “christian” people for a very long time.

It is also ironic that a person with religious belef has the audacity to feel victimised for such a minor requirement in the workplace. After all, the Organised religions of the world continually and institutionally discriminate within almost every part of a persons life choices.

I just want to say that I am delighted with my new guitar.

I am no longer so in awe of the instrument and have finally been managing to find some time to practice. Not anything like so much as I would like but a lot more than I managed last year (almost none!).

So thanks, Per. Once again. And thanks also to Malcolm – his patience and passion for music on the guitar always motivates me.

That’s all – just wanted to say it!

And I am very cross.

I thought Tony Blair received too much reverence while in office. On Friday I was appalled at the level of reverence shown at the Chillblain enquiry.

One behavioural trait was particularly irritating.

“Look, let me try to explain …” or “Look, I want you to realise…”

The vanity and the ego were astounding. This bravura was all the more appalling in light of his desire to portray the deceptions of his time in office as simply a “judgement” call. The kind of “judgement” call made by any CEO of a big organisation.

Some appalling and obscene judgements in many peoples opinion.

So, imagine my reaction upon seeing Lord High Salamander Peter Mandelson this morning. His wise words framed in sentences such as: “Look, you know he’s not a sort of TV personality…”

Look, just answer the bl**dy questions you gits.

Not a sudden thaw.

No – one of the few occassions when I am glad for a multitude of Sky channels since I can find a channel not analysing, reporting and dramatising the cold weather conditions.

It is very cold, slippery and difficult to get around. Perfect time for wine and feel good tv!

I realise, given the time of year, that this post may “seem” like a hint for Santa.

However, given the cost of these things, it clearly is not!

I have a very great penchant for bags and cases. I have always wanted a Gladstone bag and when I went to a shop a year or two ago to buy one – it had closed!

Now, I see they are online and are actually based on Arran. However, I am now not sure what I would go for…

I love the Gladstones, still: See Gladstones but I am also very drawn toward his “My briefcase”: See the “My briefcase”.

They are beautiful items. The workmanship and leather are fantastic and the tactile pleasure… Enough, this is becoming weird!

All of which is immaterial, I am utterly skint!

The sound of waves on a shore can sometimes seem melancholy and sometimes hopeful.

I am never close to the sea without being drawn into thought. Some primitive area of my brain is captivated by the power and the cold of the water. Frequently, on cold beaches and in mid winter, I have a swim. This causes disbelief from friends and family. I have enough blubber on my bones to keep me warm for a short while. The secret is to get dry and out of the wind as soon as you leave the water.

I have scuba dived, snorkelled, sailed, kayaked and swam in the sea. Usually in oceans and always in very cold water.

Last night, for a short while, I spent some time alone on a beach on the East coast of Scotland. Near to St Abbs. A stretch of coast which looks onto the North Sea. There were occasional lights from tankers travelling. They seem always to be slower after dark. It must be an illusion.

I was sleepy and slightly weary after a busy weekend and some late nights. I did not expect anything except some exhiliration from a cold, sea wind and a chance to unwind.

Instead I found myself completely transported back to an evening I spent as a young boy on a beach where I grew up. Every thought and emotion from that youthful night seemed to be new in my head. I remembered it completely and it was vivid.

I tried to hang onto the contentment of the recollection and stay a while longer in that place. I still feel giddy with the power of the recollection a day later. I wish I could have worked the journey in reverse and told the young boy answers to some of the questions I can remember him thinking.

Some I was able to answer. How is it when people you rely upon leave you? What is it like to fall in love? Would I ever have children? Would I travel abroad?

These questions I could have answered and I could have tried to help him make sense of some of the things which puzzled him.

I could not, however, have answered most of the questions in his head. Even years later. I still don’t have answers. The only thing the passage of time has taught me is to ask fewer questions.

We have had the Scottish “leg” of the Politician of the Year awards.

Something about Politicians being awarded a gong for “One to Watch” – presented by a newspaper to a politician over some nice drinkies – seems wrong.

Wrong, like some grubby old man trying to snog his daughters friend at a party. That kind of “shudder” wrong.

There is also an award for “Donald Dewar debater of the Year”.

Get back to hedging your bets and scheming over every decision made so it can be used for the greater good of the Party.

Leave the awards ceremonies to people like Lady Gaga.