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Memories

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Antony Sher

1949 – 2021

RIP

It is, sadly, that time of year when those who are elderly or infirm – or who have been fighting against illness or disease – are perhaps at their most vulnerable. It should come as no surprise that amongst the number of those who pass at this time there will inevitably be found great men and women whose loss – though no more profound than those less known – may touch a greater number of those of us who remain.

It is but a few days since Stephen Sondheim was mourned in these jottings – and of course in many other fora. Now comes news of the passing of the great Shakespearean actor – Antony Sher. Sher was born and brought up in South Africa in the 1950s and 60s, before fleeing to London to train to be an actor. His record as a great Shakespearean – with the Royal Shakespeare Company and with other prestigious companies – is detailed splendidly in many other places and one could do worse than to start with Wikipedia.

Sher also wrote a number of books and his memoir of the year in which he played Richard III at the RSC – a role that cemented his reputation – was published in 1985 as “The Year of the King“.

Sher was married to Greg Doran – the Artistic Director of the RSC. I had the very great fortune to meet both men whilst working at my penultimate school. Doran had – as I recall – been invited to judge one of the School’s many competitions and Antony Sher accompanied him. At the dinner that inevitably follows such events I found myself sitting beside the latter for a while. I had just read his autobiography – “Beside Myself” – in which he wrote movingly about his relationship with his late father. At that point (in the early 2000s) my father had also recently died and we had a conversation about the effect that this has on one. He was entirely gracious and thoughtful and I was most grateful that he had been prepared to be so open with someone that he had not previously met.

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Stephen Sondheim

1930 – 2021

RIP

 

Sad news yesterday of the passing of the last of the four iconic creators of what is almost certainly the best musical ever conceived – West Side Story. Jerome Robbins, Leonard Bernstein and Arthur Laurents were all in their late thirties at the point at which the show was created in the late 1950s, whereas Sondheim was the baby of the quartet at just 26 years of age.

I was slightly (though entirely unreasonably) shocked to learn that Sondheim was 91. Time really has flown! West Side Story has been with us for pretty much all of my life and – though I have not myself been involved in a production – I have been close to those who have on numerous occasions.

Sondheim is also, of course, renowned for many other groundbreaking productions in music theatre in addition to West Side Story (Company, Follies, Into the Woods, Sunday in the Park with George, A Little Night Music etc). Others far more qualified will write far better valedictions than can I; and I commend them to you.

Way back in the mid 1980s I saw Sondheim give a most erudite platform at the National Theatre in London, to accompany the National’s production of Sunday in the Park with George. If ever I find myself musing that his work tends to be rather too cerebral (and clever!) and not to carry a sufficiently direct emotional charge I remind myself that he also wrote the immortal ‘Send in the Clowns‘.

‘Nuff said. Respect!

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I had an odd experience this evening…

I had just returned – on a dismal and dank November Wednesday evening – from  three hours teaching on the trot at the College. It was almost dark when I reached home and I was the first one back.

I made myself a cup of coffee – as is my habit upon returning home – and settled down with my iDevice to scan the headlines, to bring myself up to date with the goings on in the world.

Now – I was pretty tired… which may explain some of this – and I am getting on a bit… which may explain more.

I was scrolling down through the BBC website and happened upon a list of the ‘Most Read‘ news stories of the day. One of the items was the announcement of the death of Sir Sean Connery. As I studied the tributes I was overcome by emotion and my eyes filled with tears. This was clearly the end of an era.

At this point The Girl arrived home and immediately recognised that something was troubling me. Worried that I had had some bad news she quizzed me gently. I hastened to explain and to reassure her.

It took me yet a while more before the – “Hold on a minute!” – moment struck. Sean Connery died last year. I wrote an entry to this journal at the time. What was I thinking?

I hastened back to the BBC. Sure enough – at number seven in the list of ‘Most Read‘ news stories today was the item from last year announcing Connery’s death.

At a time when the nations of the world are gathered at COP26 in Glasgow in a (perhaps hopeless) attempt to save the world from climate change… in a period when the global COVID-19 pandemic threatens to burst forth anew across the globe… on a day when the US electorate have apparently forgiven and forgotten the GOP’s appalling behaviour over the past five years – on a day when the tory party in the UK has brazenly declared open season for corruption and sleaze in UK politics…

…the seventh most read story of the day was about the death of a film icon a year ago!

Most interesting!

Mind you – given how the story managed to affect me all over again a year on, perhaps that should not come as such a surprise.

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Charlie Watts
1941 – 2021
RIP

Charlie_Watts_Berlinale_2008.jpg: Siebbi derivative work: Miss-Sophie, Charlie Watts Berlinale 2008 cropped, CC BY 3.0

A less-happy side-effect of being gifted a moderately long life (and one of course with many years yet to run – one hopes!) is that as one ages one increasingly observes the passing not just of those who are close and loved, but also of major ‘public’ figures whose achievements and even whose simple existence has throughout the years touched the lives of so many. In this online journal I like to acknowledge those whose very passing, in my view, changes the world as we know it.

I was never the biggest Rolling Stones fan but I certainly acknowledge their genius within their field. At least two of their works are, as far as I am concerned, timeless classics: ‘Gimme Shelter‘ and ‘You Can’t Always Get What you Want‘.

I saw them once – at the old Wembley Stadium in London. Jagger was extraordinary but as a whole they somewhat underwhelmed. Even in that show, however, I couldn’t help but recognise the essential contribution that Charlie Watts made to the band’s sound. There are many technically gifted drummers in the world but there are few whose style is so distinctive that – even when maintaining a simple back-beat – they are instantly recognisable. Charlie Watts was numbered amongst that elite.

The many tributes already published make it clear that Watts was a thoroughly likeable, modest and self-effacing man who contrived to make it relatively unscathed through the mayhem that seemed to exemplify the Stones existence back in the latter part of the last century.

Can the Stones continue touring without Charlie Watts? Should they? Who knows – but he will be sadly missed by many…

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No words

I try – for the most part – to keep the posts to this gazette relatively light-hearted, the which – for the most part – reflects the blessed lives that The Girl and I lead out here in Beautiful British Columbia. Regular readers will know that this praxis occasionally falls by the wayside should there be happenings out in the wider world on which I just feel the absolute need to comment.

It is our great good fortune that only very rarely are there circumstances in which the dark clouds gather nearer to home and that some grim situation intrudes upon our privileged existence.

This, sadly, is one such…

The Girl has been greatly affected in this last period by the news from our very doorstep of the terrible discovery of the unmarked graves of 215 children at the former Kamloops Residential School here in BC. This news has been published around that world and you may have already read something of it wherever you are. The Girl was… is… understandably deeply upset by the news and moved to put something into words.

With your indulgence I will upload her reflections in my next post:

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HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh

1921 – 2021

RIP

There have already been many tributes paid to Prince Philip, who died today at the age of 99. There will be many more such in days to come. Our thoughts are with The Queen; she and the Duke had been married for seventy three years.

On such occasions it seems inevitable that all and sundry will trot out their anecdotes concerning the prince. For what it is worth – here is mine:

I was only once in the same space as the Duke – way back in the mists of time before the turn of century. I was invited to attend a Gala Dinner somewhere in the midlands of the UK in support of a charitable foundation that I can no longer can recall. Philip was doubtless the patron of said charity and was the guest of honour at the gala.

Now – it happened that on the night in question a very important (if such a thing there could be!) football match was taking place. I believe that it was the semi-final of some footie contest between England and Germany (or West Germany – depending exactly when this took place). There was much grumbling amongst the attendees of the dinner – many of whom would have preferred to be at home watching the game.

For a while the Master of Ceremonies – who was in any case making regular announcements – kept the assembled throng up to date with the score from the match, which England were at that point leading. Then all of a sudden the announcements dried up. Word went around the room that Germany had equalised and that Philip had decreed that no further updates should be given.

Several courses later I chanced to look around the room – which seemed less crowded than it had before. I was slightly surprised to observe that the Duke and I were amongst only a very few men left in the room, all others being of the fairer sex. Again, word went around that there was a large screen TV in the kitchens, the which had been thoughtfully provided so that the chefs could keep an eye on the game. Now – I have no interest in such matters and the Duke clearly could not slip out to have a look… so thus we remained.

Yet another while later and there was a muffled groan from somewhere offstage and all of a sudden a hoard of be-tuxed chaps wearing disconsolate expressions filed back into the room. It seemed that England had once again (as was/is their habit) lost on penalties.

I like to think that the Duke had been wise enough to have privately predicted the potential outcome and had thus made a smart choice.

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Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/friis-236854/?utm_source=link-attribution&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_campaign=image&amp;utm_content=333574">Philip Friis</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com/?utm_source=link-attribution&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_campaign=image&amp;utm_content=333574">Pixabay</a>Well now… I figure that I owe all good, gentle and most patient readers something like half of a story – and as I aim to be a man of my word…

No recaps! If you want to catch up click here to revisit the last post and thus glean all there is to know up to this point; I’m just going to plough straight on ahead.

So – ‘Go West’ were recording in Gary, Dave and Rod’s studio, with Gary producing and Dave doing the synth programming and keyboard work. This was the early 80s, the era of synth-pop, the which had come about because of the advent of such seminal keyboards as the Sequential Circuits Prophet 5, the Roland Jupiter 8, the Yamaha DX7, the Korg M1 (of which I still have one which sits next to me as I write) and the ground-breaking Fairlight – so Dave’s particular talents were suddenly much in demand.

Gary and Dave worked on demo versions of two ‘Go West’ tracks – “Call Me” and “We Close Our Eyes” – which so impressed the record companies to which they were submitted that there was virtually a bidding war to sign the duo. ‘Go West’ became – for a while – pretty big in Europe (if not in North America) and toured there and as far afield as Japan. Needing augmentation for touring and recording they took on Gary and Dave as ‘permanent’ members. I remember Dave sending me a postcard from Japan when they were touring there.

As with many such genres synth-pop slowly faded from musical fashionability and ‘Go West’ faded with it – though the various constituent members are still working as far as I can tell (as would seem to be the case with many 80s bands).

Now – you may ask – why do I bring this all up right now? The answer is that – as mentioned before – the pandemic and associated lock-downs has led to a certain introspection and backward-looking – a certain affectionate wallowing in nostalgia, if you like. Long story, short – having lost touch with Dave at some point in the mid-80s I recently spent some time on the InterWebNet trying to find out what happened him. As is often the way in such circumstances I discovered some things that I had not previously known.

The band that Gary, Dave and Rob had formed back in the early 80s was called ‘Radar’. At the point at which they were swept up in the whole ‘Go West’ circus they were approaching the end of recording their own first album which was to have been titled “Lost in the Atlantic“. With everything else that was happening to them at the time that work was put on the back burner – and subsequently the album was never released…

…until now! This very year – just over a month ago – it finally came out in a limited release on a specialist label – Escape Music. You can read all about it here – and should you be an enthusiast for mid-80s synth-pop you might just care to give it a listen.

On a personal note it seems to me a somewhat strange synchronicity that – having lost touch with Dave at around the time this music was being created – I should next think to track him down (virtually!) at the point that it was finally released nearly four decades later.

Funny old world – ain’t it?

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As promised in my last but one post – an anecdote with a strong element of nostalgia… for me at any rate.

Back in the day (promising start – though we need not concern ourselves as to exactly which day) I played in a variety of bands in and around London in the UK. My very first band – in which all concerned cut their teeth as musicians – stayed together for around eight years, which really is pretty good going first time out. Amongst our other achievements we became connected to a Young People’s theatre company for whom we were invited to write a musical… and then another… and another… By the end of the 70s we had played our part in the creation of three musicals – two of which had been taken to the Edinburgh Fringe.

By that time the band had reached the point at which it was clearly time to go our separate ways. As a farewell ‘tour’ we managed to land a week of gig bookings back in Edinburgh at the Fringe Club and a night Upstairs at Ronnie Scott’s in London. This was to be our swan-song.

Now, at that point there were two brothers in the band who both played keyboards, but who were – for reasons I do not now recall – unable to make the trip north. We decided to do that which bands in the UK were wont to do in such situations – we advertised in the Melody Maker for someone to fill in. The ad was answered by a keen young chap who will for the purposes of this piece go by the name ‘Dave’ (for that was his name!). He was young (about seventeen I think) and precociously talented. He was also a really nice guy.

He duly came to Edinburgh with us – played Ronnie Scott’s with us – was appropriately sad when everything came to an end and we resolved to stay in touch – the which for a while we duly did.

Now Dave had left school by this point and was looking for somewhere to work. As it happened I was a regular gawker (and occasional customer) at my local music shop in Surrey and one day I saw advertised there the position of keyboard salesman. I drew this to Dave’s attention; he applied and got the job.

The guitar salesman at the store was a chap called Gary. He was somewhat older than Dave and had ambitions in both production and to play in a band. He and Dave and a vocalist/bassist called Rod quickly started working together. They built themselves a small studio (a lot more difficult in those less technical days) and set about writing and recording. They attracted some interest and soon gained a publishing contract.

At about this time various other local bands started to avail themselves both of the studio and of Gary’s production talents. One of these outfits was a duo that went by the name ‘Go West’.

Now – this story is clearly going to make for quite a long post, so I think it best to split it here and to finish it off in what I promise will definitely be the very next post…

See you then…

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It should perhaps be unsurprising in such times as these – that is, both when the winter is yet dragging its feet and noisily denying a platform to the incipient spring – and when the pernicious pandemic, still charging ahead at pretty near full throttle, keeps us cowering, heads well down, in our cardboard castles – that our thoughts turn to other and (in our memories at least) more gentle times.

Yes – it is for such ages that nostalgia was invented. This post (and quite possibly the next) will be devoted to the subject of just such wallowage (a word which appears in abundance on the InterWebNet but which may not be located within any dictionary as far as I can see).

At this point two years ago we were excitedly preparing for our last visit to the UK and to Europe (now, of course, sadly different things!). As that was to be our first trip back since moving to Canada in 2015 it is not surprising that revisiting old haunts and re-uniting with loved ones – both family and friends – featured prominently on the agenda.

Having done so within these postings on more than one occasion I am not about to recount yet again our doings on that trip but more to dwell upon the aftermath thereof… the echoes, should one prefer. I wrote at the time of the friends and family with who we had been re-united and I also waxed extremely lyrical concerning the long-lost contacts that were remade – particularly with those with whom I had at one point been fortunate enough to have created music or theatre.

Quite delightfully many of us who re-kindled associations on that trip are still in touch by one means or another – but mostly, it should be said, courtesy of the InterWebNet. Some keep in touch by email – some follow this blog (and on occasion respond thereto) and others have formed or joined the sort of online groups that may be used to share memories of people, places and events from our shared pasts.

Quite apart from the pleasures to be enjoyed by the recollection of the treasured memories that may thus be evoked this does give me – at least (though I suspect others also) – pause to consider just how rich were the experiences that we shared and the relationships that we formed. In my view we were – and still are – lucky, lucky people…

The next post will concern one of those odd little twists of fate that perhaps all lives throw up… (or perhaps not)!

On with the nostalgia…

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Time passes, and little by little everything that we have spoken in falsehood becomes true.

Marcel Proust

I receive a sharp reminder once a year of the passage of time… and in particular of the passage of time since I started writing this blog. That reminder comes in the form of the renewal demand from my hosting company for the pleasure of supporting my various websites – of which this blog was the first, having been created back in 2012. I started blogging at the end of January that year so now is the time that I must stump up in order that I may continue so to do.

For those gentle readers who don’t really get this whole blogging thing – there was a time when blogging was all the rage. That was the few years before I took it up, naturally, and by the time had I started keeping this journal the youngsters were already saying – “Blogging?… Nah!

Now, of course, I am nearly a whole decade further behind the times – and you know what? – I really don’t care that I am old-fashioned. I am sixty seven, for goodness sake. I am allowed to be old fashioned.

For those of you who like statistics – in the nine years that I have been writing this blog I have written 925 posts (averaging just over 100 posts a year – approximately two a week). If the internal statistics are to be believed I have written nearly 365,000 words in that time and uploaded some 2,590 images – many of them my own photographs.

Not bad, huh?!

I started blogging when I learned that The Girl was going to take up a good job here in Victoria, even though I still needed to work for a few more years in the UK before I could retire and move to Canada to be with her. Faced with the prospect of carrying on a long distance relationship with an eight hour time difference I figured that I would need to find things to occupy my time (other than working!). When her job fell through and she came back to the UK some ten months later I decided to keep the blog going – documenting our eventual move to British Columbia, which was rescheduled for 2015.

I could have stopped once we settled here but I decided to keep it going – as a way of keeping a foot on both continents. I am blessed to have regular readers on both sides of the pond who seem happy to keep up with my chunterings.

Has the blog changed much? It is certainly less verbose than it used to be and I don’t reach for the thesaurus quite as much as once I did. I enjoyed getting to explore the language and to play little games with prose, but as I have grown older so have I started to keep things a little more simple – more straightforward. I have noticed that I do the same with song lyrics – which is no bad thing…

Having made it this far I will, naturally, be shooting for the complete decade.

After that – who knows?

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