Category: Music & Dance

To Have and to Hold

To Have and to Hold

The bells rang out for a family wedding so we brushed down our mothballed suits and headed across country to Hertfordshire, one of the well-manicured counties ringing London. We dropped off our man bags at the Old Bull in tidy Royston, jumped in a cab and were chauffeured at alarming speed along twisting lanes (our driver was Turkish) to the little hamlet of Shingay cum Wendy. Apparently there are quite a few cums in Hertfordshire.

The matrimonial venue was South Farm, a working farm with a sumptuous events venue attached (or the other way round – I couldn’t quite tell). Either way, it was picture-perfect handsome, a riot of iridescent green and precision planting that wouldn’t look out of place at the Chelsea Flower Show.

The pigs and chickens shared a well-groomed paddock and they made for an amusing distraction as we sipped the free-flowing fizz. Being a devoted townie, it’s the closest I’ll ever get to rural life.

I didn’t take any snaps of the ceremony, I left that to the official paparazzi, but I can report that the I Do’s were suitably solemn and intimate. The bride, our niece, was as pretty as a picture and clearly head over her white heels. Young love restores my faith in humanity.

It wasn’t exactly flaming June but the sun did pop out for a while, just in time for the photo call. Mother Nature managed to hold her temper until the reception before adding a surreal snap, crackle and pop to the bonhomie in the newly-restored Tudor Barn. Cocks crowed during the speeches and the bride blushed as the groom gushed. Liam and I were placed on the uncles’ and aunties’ table next to the bar. Clearly, our reputation had preceded us.

There were more PhDs in the room than at a Nobel prize-giving and when the party kicked off, classic rock was their soundtrack of choice. By 10:30 pm, sated and two sheets to the wind, we bid our farewells and left the trendy young brains to pogo the night away to Bowie, Oasis and the Boss. Oh, to be in my twenties again – perfect figure, perfect skin, perfect liver. And staying power.

Twisted Cabaret

Twisted Cabaret

Norwich has more medieval churches than you shake a stick at, a church for every week of the year so the saying goes. You can hardly turn a corner without bumping into a stone steeple or Gothic arch. Back in the day, the cloth trade made Norwich rich and the top of the heap paid their way into Heaven by sponsoring medieval masterpieces. The cassock class were more than happy to indulge the myth and take the bung.  But in these more secular times, the Faithful are few: come Sunday, most pews are empty. Some churches have been mothballed – boarded up and padlocked to keep out the elements and the vandals. Many others, though, have been given a new lease of life as arts centres, theatres, museums and exhibition spaces. Such is the case with the Church of St Peter the Less on Barrack Street. The pretty 15th century building miraculously survived the Luftwaffe’s bombs which flattened everything else around one night in 1942, and now sits on a grassy mound by a busy roundabout. Since 1980, the church has been home to the Norwich Puppet Theatre, one of those amazing provincial arts organisations that flourish against all the odds.

Norwich Puppet Theatre

When not stringing up the cast to amuse little people, the theatre is available for hire (including civil weddings, ironically). So, one Sunday we took our pews for a performance of Twisted Cabaret by the Knightshift Dance Company and jobbing drag queen, Miss Special K. The fusion of modern community dance with old-school gay showbiz was inventive enough but a man in a frock and ginger wig singing ‘Your son’ll come out tomorrow,’ in a deconsecrated church was deliciously subversive. Those God-fearing old merchants must be spinning in their graves. I loved it.

Urinetown

Urinetown

Friday night was theatre night and Liam fancied a slice of am-dram at the Maddermarket. When he announced we were to see Urinetown, I thought he was taking the pissoir: a show about a public loo? Fortified by a large glass of white and resigned to grin and bear it, I took my pew and surveyed the crowd. On most cultural excursions we’re generally surrounded by the good and the grey of the county. This audience was decidedly younger and trendier. Perhaps they knew something I didn’t.

Turns out they did. The production was foot-tapping fun but with a dark edge, an everyday tale of environmental degradation, unfettered capitalism, corporate greed, rampant public corruption and a restive mob – all set to a score of soaring tunes that parodies some of the more pompous musicals like Les Misérables. I spied a nod to Romeo and Juliet too. The mob triumphs but, alas, it doesn’t end well. Urinetown is a show with a message.

It may have been am-dram from the Sound Ideas Theatre Company but you could hardly tell. The live band was a classy touch and there were several stand-out performances from the cast. But for me, the star of the show was seventeen year old Nicola Myers who played ‘Little Sally’ with pathos and humour accompanied by a cracking set of pipes. I predict a great future.

Nicola Myers

All the images are courtesy of the Sound Ideas Facebook page.

Victoria Wood, RIP

victoria woodIt’s with enormous sadness that I’ve just heard about the death of Victoria Wood from cancer.  She was, quite simply, my kind of act. Her body of work was astounding  – TV sketch shows, stand up, sitcoms, musicals, plays and films (both comic and straight) – all containing the same depth of wit and unsentimental pathos that set her head and shoulders above the rest of her (mostly male) peers. Victoria Wood saw humour in the humdrum, the extraordinary in the everyday. She was a breath of fresh air from both the misogynistic old dinosaurs of her early career and the new breed of angry comics who thought shouting expletives at you was funny. And, she was generous with her words, giving her best lines to the talented cast of people she always kept close, Julie Walters among them.

I’m so pleased I got to see her (twice) at the Albert Hall back in the day. Victoria Wood has kept me laughing through four decades.

Image courtesy of the Guardian.

Talented Hands

Liam lived in Wales for 15 years. With a music degree under his arm, he chucked himself into the local choirs and carols scene. In 1990, Liam won the Wales on Sunday Christmas Carol Competition with his composition ‘Bethlehem Star’. The competition was broadcast live on HTV, one of the (now defunct) regional TV channels at the time. Liam didn’t expect to win and when they presented the prize, he was a bit squiffy from one too many in the Green Room. Following an all too brief flirtation with fame, Liam satisfied his creative juices with the Mountain Ash and District Choral Society who commissioned him to compose jolly Yuletide tunes. And they still do.

Cascade CraftsOn his last trip to the Valleys, Liam was introduced to Les Barker, the son-in-law of a special friend and Mountain Ash chorister. In recent years, Les has taken up wood carving. And what a wood carver he’s turned out to be. Les’ extraordinary pieces are one-offs, lovingly made to order. Intricate traditional Welsh lovespoons are his stock in trade but he can turn his chisel to pretty much anything. Trouble was, Les wasn’t visible on the web. So I knocked up a website for him. Now the amazing Les can take commissions from Toronto to Timbuktu, Bodrum to Beijing. Sorted.

Cascade Crafts

Please take a look at Les’ wares at Cascade Crafts. I think you’ll be impressed. I know I was.

And who can resist a man with talented hands?

Sunshine on Leith

Sunshine on Leith

After all the fuss and frolics of Yuletide, it’s now austerity season. Nights are spent nesting on the sofa, cushion fighting over the remote control. Thumbing through the DVD collection uncovered a lost gem, something we’d picked up from the HMV bargain bucket and forgotten about. ‘Sunshine on Leith’ is the re-telling of the timeless girl meets boy story, played out in the streets and pubs of Edinburgh and set to the music of The Proclaimers. It’s a foot tapping joy from beginning to end with some glorious set pieces that really show off the Caledonian capital’s neo-classical elegance. Mind you, it’s just as well I’ve stepped out with a few Scots lads in my time. Those less familiar with Scottish brogue are advised to turn on the subtitles.

David Bowie, Starman

David Bowie, Starman

We awoke to the sad news of the death of David Bowie from cancer. Bowie had a profound effect on me during my fumbling years. His pioneering music, his constant reinvention and, above all, his sexual ambiguity taught me that to be different was ok. It was a lesson I learned well.

Bowie released his latest album, Blackstar, on his 69th Birthday, just a few days ago. It was reviewed in the Independent Daily Briefing by Andy Gill who wrote:

It may be significant that this is the first Bowie album that features no trace of his face on the sleeve, with even his name abstracted to a series of graphic fragments; it’s almost as if he’s retiring from public view, deliberately turning away from his own past.

Prophetic words indeed.

Last Tango in London

Last Tango in London

At the arse end of another weekend in the Smoke, we found ourselves with time on our hands at Liverpool Street Station. Liam’s bright idea to kill time was a detour to Old Spitalfields Market for a browse and a bite. I say ‘old’ but Spitalfields has been relentlessly gentrified since its heyday as an East End fruit and faggots emporium. Apples and pears have given way to arts and crafts, jellied eels to corporate fare. The place was heaving and the tourists lapped up the fake authenticity. There was a surprise round every corner and this was the biggest surprise of all. It was mesmerising.

Cilla Black, RIP

Cilla Black, RIP

The inimitable Cilla Black has just died at the young age of 72 at her home in Spain. It’s a sad day. I grew up with Cilla (née Priscilla White) from her glory days as Britain’s premier power balladeer in the Swinging Sixties to her reign as undisputed queen of Saturday night TV in the Eighties with programmes like Blind Date. So I do hope when Cilla pitched up at the Pearly Gates, St Peter asked:

What’s your name and where do you come from?

I think Our Cilla would have liked that

Lordy, Lordy!

Lordy, Lordy!

There was no rain on the Lord Mayor’s Parade. Clear blue skies and one of the warmest days of the year provided the perfect excuse for the good citizens of Norwich to throw a giant party. Last year, we watched the pageant from a neighbour’s balcony, the surreal highlight of which was Alice Cooper’s ‘Poison’ blaring out from a giant float. This year, we got down and dirty with the great unwashed. Singers, dancers and musicians from also-rans to best in breed kept the ample crowd entertained on street and stage across the city. The inclusion of so many children and young people with disabilities was a joy. The surreal highlight was a primary school dance troupe strutting their stuff to Alice Cooper’s ‘School’s Out.’ Obviously, the north folk of Norfolk are partial to a bit of shock rock. The carnival was topped off with a spectacular firework extravaganza over the Norman keep. Fabulous!

As you can see, we took a few snaps. They got progressively worse as we got progressively worse for wear. Liam has chucked together (and I mean chucked) a video compilation from the wobbly out-takes. Listen if you dare, to a drunken and tone-deaf sing-a-long-a-Liam during the pyrotechnics. The next day we had wine flu.