Archive for the ‘Personal’ Category

As on a previous, happier, occasion, I ask for my readers indulgence for this personal post. This was my reading delivered today, 29th January, 2015.

My father once said that he could not understand how people found so much to say at funerals; at his, he said, his life story would be over in just a few lines. Perhaps, here, I will prove him right.

My father used to describe himself as a blessed man — he meant this in a very simple way, which was that he was a happy man, contented with his life and his family. My father did not want for things for physical possessions but he did want to look after the things that he had. He loved to make and build things, to define simple solutions to little problems; his garage has shelves and cupboards that he crafted like a fitted kitchen. He was happiest in his home, in the environment that he had helped to build.

As children, my father would take my brother and I on long cycle rides through the countryside around Worcester on many weekends. In my memory, these rides went on for a long time, though I was young and they cannot have been that far; but they were an enormously exciting adventure. They left me with a love of cycling that I retain to this day. In reality, of course, it was just my dad finding a creative way of getting us out of the house while my mum made dinner.

My father loved to talk with people, to find out how they were. After Sean, my son, was born, my dad spent many hours talking with my Italian father-in-law: first, they waved their hands around; then, after I showed them how, they used my computer to translate, passing it backward and forward between them. The lack of a common language was never going to get in the way of my dad having a good conversation.

When I was young, I did not think of him as a good father, just as my dad; I thought every dad was like that. Seeing him with my son made me appreciate him all the more; the sweet stupidity of an eighty year old man, crawling on all-fours with his grandson saying, “shall I make some silly noises, then”? He loved Sean beyond measure.

He had a deep consideration for others. When I told him how I had not been able to return this year at Christmas for his unexpected operation, he said that, he would have been devastated if I had, and that he hoped that he had not spoiled the holiday with his illness.

My dad’s life story may not be one of great deads or big adventures, but these things miss every thing that was important about him. He was a loving man, a kind man and a generous man. But above all, he was a gentle man. His loss leaves a hole in my, and our, lives that cannot be filled, but if when my, and our, time comes, if family and friends can say the same thing about us, then we, too, will have lead blessed lives.

William Henry Lord

Bill Lord

Dad

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I was lucky enough to catch (er) the premier of Catch-22 at the Northern Stage on Saturday. I’ve been to quite a few shows there now, and they are generally good; an adaption of what I consider to be best book that I’ve ever read, I was optimistic. We had good seats as well, middle, fifth row (far enough away not to get a stiff neck, close enough to hear clearly).

Looking through the programme, I was confused as to who had made the adaption as it wasn’t not mentioned anywhere; fortunately, BBC News put me right; the play was my Joseph Heller himself.

The stage set was fantastic, a cut-away bomber with the back-end merging into a beach hut. Like the rest of the set, it was used for many purposes — as a plane, an office, an entrance way. The cast was the same; nine actors jumping backward and forward between roles, except for the actor playing Yossarian, who, as in the book, was a solitary figure in the middle of the madness.

On the whole, I think it worked rather well. It’s a mistake, I think, to compare it to the book directly; nothing ever could. Many fantastic parts were missed — including my own favorite great loyality campaign, and the shortening meant that only a few characters really came out of their own: Colonel Cathcart, Major Major, the Chaplain, Natley (and his whore). Not all of it, I think, made entire sense: the naked man in the tree was funny, but it wasn’t clear why Yossarian refused to wear his clothes; nor the ending, with Orr’s escape missing, it’s not clear why Yossarian got all optimistic. But how could there not be parts missing? The main thing is that the feel of the theatre show and the book are the same; it’s confused, dissonate, unsettling, challenging all at the same time as being very, very funny.

The BBC news article raises the question, in the 40 years since the play was written why has it not been performed more. Good question, indeed.

A few weeks back, I went to see Neil Young at the Academy. This represents quite a few firsts for me: although I’ve loved his stuff for years, this is the first time that I have seen Neil Young live, and likewise Crazy Horse. It’s also the first gig that I have been to for quite a while. I have never got over the sense of excitement of live music and this has only been increased by its rarity. I was definately looking forward to it.

Set against this, the Metro Arena is not my favourite sort of venue. Large venues such as this are fairly soulless places. The arena fits squarely into this category; like a football stadium, seats too small and uncomfortable. Moving around involves lots of shuffling around in big queues.

The stage set consisted of a Crazy Horse banner, some enormous packing cases, and video screens set in old style TV casing. All of this rather swamped Los Lobos, who none the less did a good support set.

The packing cases were the first sign of the melodrama of the evening; with the rather strange sight of roadies dressed up as mad scientists running around, these were lifted up to reveal the set of enormous amps familiar from Weld, backed by Day in the Life. This was a complete revelation; played loud over a big sound system with all the resonance of an arena, it’s a totally different song. Dramatic, exiciting; the John Lennon vocals in the second pattern were haunting, and the orchestral finale were stupendous, leaving the audience stunned.

This was followed by a slightly cheesy rendition of the national anthem, and then straight into Love and Only Love; this really summed the rest of the night up. It was loud, long and overblown. And, yet, somehow they get away with it. The songs are simple and direct. Despite the theatrics, at heart its just a bunch of guys on stage, hunched over their instruments playing in a way which cuts through all the messing, takes you into the music and carries you away. It’s live music and more over it is music that is at its best live. You need it there in front on your to appreciate it to its full extent.

There are times when, perhaps, it feels like one too many thudding chord changes too many, one too many feedback-laced false ending, but I didn’t care. I’ve been listening to some of these songs for 20 years now; the band is now all in their late 60s or 70s, and some of the songs over 40 years old. But, to me, it felt fresh; I dont know if I will ever get to see them live again, but I am glad that I have seen them once. A great gig for me.

It has been a long, long time since my last gig review. As this blog is mostly professional now, this is perhaps not such a bad thing. I did half write a review of Roy Harper and Joanna Newsome in Sept last year, but it never got posted. Don’t think I have been to gig since then. Still onwards.

I’ve been a fan of June Tabor for a long time, particularly her album with Martin Simpson even if it does have terrible cover art. Despite this, and the fact that she lives pretty close to my home town, I’ve never seen her live. Her music is dark and eclectic, her voice rich. Combined with the Oysterband’s tendency to do strange adaptations folk-style it was destined to be an interesting gig. The music is something like gothic folk if that is not a contradiction in terms. While singing, June Tabor comes as a foreboding presence on stage. Between songs though, she’s entertaining, witty and light, which was a bit of a relief.

The gig was fantastic. Her voice is as excellent live as on record, with adding prescence. She adds to the music by, erm, explaining what it is all about (this can be something of a problem otherwise). The evening was well managed, moving from gentle and quieter music to end-of-evening barnstormers. It was good to be listening to live music again.

But one thing I didn’t understand. Why does Ray Cooper stand on a box while playing bass? He’s already the tallest.

My first visit to Oslo was in 2006. That time, it was for work and we were some distance away from town. I remember the flight in gave a dramatic impression, and I remember sitting in the conference centre, looking over the hill side, breathing in the thick scent of pine watching the sun slowing crawl toward the horizon at about 11pm. I only got into town the once, on the last night, and saw little of it which I was disappointed about. My second visit to Norway was to Trondheim and I enjoyed that as well.

So I was looking forward to visiting Oslo again, for a few days, doing the tourist thing. But I am afraid that I have been disappointed again; this city has not really grabbed me. The architecture is impressive at points, but there is a random, thrown-together quality about the city overall; nothing to rival the magnificence that is Grainger Town in Newcastle. And some of the signature buildings are, again, just okay; the Opera House has a roof you can walk up, but that seems to be it. The night time is subdued to say the least, and the food is okay at best. The only stand out feature seems to be an extra-ordinary number of sculptures — mostly bronzes, and often not famous people. Lots of nudes in heroic poses; the number involving seals is also distinctly above the average.

Of the two best things I have seen are, first the Sculpture Park. Very classically laid out garden, but with some really very good sculpture, full of character and life. And seals. And second, the folk museum, which shows Norweigian life and buildings at different stages of history. I have to admit, though, that I was at a loss to see the difference, because over the last 4-500 years, this seems to basically have involved making robust, timber buildings on stilts. While the museum is good, I think, having less buildings, but better explained would improve it. When you get down to it, one wooden farmhouse looks very like another, especially when you can see it only from the outside.

Perhaps the biggest surprise though has been the accessibility for pushchairs. In Oslo, this is never an afterthought; they just have not thought about it at all. The tram doors slam on you if you take too long, which may happen if, say, you are struggling to get a heavy, unwieldy, pram-shaped object through a narrow door. My visit to the Opera House was limited to walking around the lobby, as walking up a sloping roof, with nothing but “slippery when wet” signs to break a clear run to the fjord is not my idea of fun. My visit to the National Gallery involved 20 steps to get in, to discover that the pushchairs are banned in the exhibition area; still, hey, you can visit the shop. Looking through the door of the National Museum (only 10 stairs up) and I could see a line of buggies next to the security guard. I didn’t even bother.

This blog has been alive now since Feb 2006. It started with a relatively uneven tone, as many blogs do, moving between the personal and the professional, the and the, erm, less trivial; the first posts were a mildly witty observation about an airport, a review of Breakfast at Tiffany’s and a discussion on semantic enrichment of literature which seems as true then as now.

I think that it has now reached a more even state — it’s generally moving in a more professional blog while, perhaps ironically, my profession has moved more toward blogging. It contains very little of my personal life for reasons explained earlier.

I would like to beg the indulgence of my readers, both of whom know this anyway, by using my blog to announce the birth of our son, Sean Maioli Lord on 7th Dec 2010. He was 3.42 kg at birth

That’s it. I have no intention of this becoming a mawkish, baby-related blog. I do have one post that I may or may not write on the biology of babies. Please feel to stop me if it goes on too much.