Raining other worlds

The rain had stopped when I left the Gods for Hippo and No Tango, Christina Fuch’s Cologne quartet that was associating with Melbourne’s Andrea Keller and touring Australia and playing the Wangaratta Festival. This band is far more immediate and less of the mind than the “never rains” Coolerators, although it’s not at all uninformed. This was odd time signatures, expressive and involving solos, earthy multicultural rhythms and inflections, emotional risings and recoveries. Christina led the band with soprano sax (and also bass clarinet) and this was very much in the modern jazz tradition: wailing, lyrical, expressive, sounding nothing other than sax to my ears. I came to hanker for her solos as the night wore on; they were so mellifluous and expressive and well skilled. This was expression with musical and emotional purpose and openhearted honesty. I preferred the soprano sax, but her skills on the bass clarinet were also very comfortable. It’s a demanding instrument and everyone complains of squeaks but I noticed none. The whole band was unified in expression: sometimes unison lines with horn and accordion or bass, plenty of unusually inventive and discordant playing from that polka-sweet-sounding accordion, sometimes chatter between instruments, very often baselined by an embroidered regularity of drums and moderately repetitive bass. The tones were mellifluous and embedded in the band sound and the arrangements moved with easy inevitability. They liked different time signatures. 11-10 was a title but also a count over descending chords that changed every 21 beats. Buddha was the Euro folk of accordion melded with bass, all defined as 3/4 by the entry of the drums. Another was in 10/16 and was a rhythm that Christina had borrowed from some Iraqi friends. I particularly noticed the drums here, wry with tuned skins then outgoing with rocky indulgence then joined by a mid-Eastern inflected soprano sax. Later, a heavy and slow 12/8; a gentle and full toned waltz dedicated to Christina’s 8 year old daughter; a nicely morphing bass against 7/4; finally a confusing but fascinating melange of polyrhythms held together by a reliable 3/4 on drums. I loved the soprano sax and the drums particularly spoke to me, but it was the way this band merged into a musically expressive whole that most impressed me. This was worldly and open-hearted music with exposed emotions and I enjoyed it immensely. Again, this didn’t feel like Australian music despite Australia’s multiculturalism. This is an expression of many cultures, but a product of one, shared with another. And what do we give in return? They may have complained about not seeing a kangaroo, but they’ve toured the Alice and that’s something unique. Great to see them. 

No Tango comprised Christina Fuchs (soprano sax, bass clarinet), Florian Stadler (accordion), Ulla Oster (bass) and Christoph Hillman (drums).

Being the Diva

Kate Hosking is Diva Sheila, the Eco Diva. The pic isn’t the Diva: it’s Kate as she relaxes after the show. Diva Sheila is slinky, sultry, in silky black dress. Who is the Diva? Well, although she’s the Eco Diva, she’s not just an eco warrior. She notes that earlier when she argues that we are all part of the environment and it’s part of us, when she recounts coughing in the industrial centre of Philip. Diva Sheila is an exploration of beliefs and philosophies, presumably Kate’s, in the context of the events in which they arose. It’s revealing and intimate, but it’s not embarrassing. It’s an invitation to think with Kate, to explore her experiences and her ethics, and to do it through some humour and some music, both original and covers. At the top, she argues for rationality in place of the “easy options” of prejudice (and who can argue with that) so there’s seriousness. Her later take on ignorance is more about what you know but don’t internalise. The example was racism and the musical expression was a profound take on Strange fruit sung with an accompaniment of sparse bass octaves. Likewise, she explores the experience of refugees, recounting weekly visits to a family in a Melbourne, separated from the father in Perth, an early teen son who absconds then voluntarily returns and eventually takes a heroin habit before the whole family is returned to their place of origin. It’s a hard story and powerful when you hear in personal recounting. But there’s bleak humour amongst devastation. “I’m here for indulgence” is one line, and recounting deportment classes and learning to walk in high heels was enlightening to me as a guy. Strange, this, but her talk of menstruation was less new to me than talk of high heels. It’s a strange, very public world we live in, that such intimacies are common parlance. BTW, the musical associations for high heels were Beyoncé and Bette Midler: that was fun. The show moved fast and I didn’t always catch the connections. I didn’t quite understand how Only 19, the Redgum song of an Australian soldier in Vietnam, fitted in, but I found it the most touching piece on the night. She goes on to explore intersex, prisons and cottontails. She jokes about her Slovenian experiences and the Balkan boys that she toured with in Europe. She sings a Slovenian love song and a lovely take on Mr Bojangles. She smirks and slinks and speaks directly and welcomes a responsive chuckle. She’s been a student of Eric Ajaye and I can see her right hand is strong and long fingered from bass-work as she accompanies her capable and nicely-intoned voice. I shouldn’t be surprised that acoustic bass and voice is so intimate and effective in a theatre setting, but I am. It worked a treat and she carried off the harmonic and rhythmic accompaniment role neatly and effectively. Finally she ends with Lou Reed’s Perfect day, repeating his line “You’re going to reap / just what you sow”. How apt. This was an intimate performance and thoughtful script from Kate Hosking (monologue, vocal, double bass) as Diva Sheila at Street 2.

Revisiting the ninth movement

It’s not right that bands should be so mature at 22. Movement 9 played jazz, not pop or rock. This is a complex art form, so how can Joe McEvilly compose and arrange and lead a 9-piece band of such quality in just his second year of tertiary studies? It just goes to show he’s talented and committed and he’s had quality training. And I’m not the only one who thinks it. They were heard playing one of their first gigs at Canberra’s Floriade and were invited to perform at the Wangaratta Festival, Australian’s premiere modern jazz outing. It was in these auspicious circumstances that Movement 9 performed for the final student concert at the Jazz School.

What a blast it was: a melange of styles, mostly original compositions but also clever arrangements played by a great band of the most capable students. You may wonder when you listen to their skills, but they are students. This night they invited several mentors, Eric Ajaye on bass, Miroslav Bukovsky on trumpet and John Mackey on tenor. All experienced and renowned players and all at ease with a band like this. Coltrane’s Giant steps is a favourite tune of John Mackey and Joe’s arrangement was a tour de force. He hadn’t just written harmonies for horns, but he’d reconstructed the feel and time sense to twist memories and still present a joyous playtime for the duelling pair of altoist Matt and tenor John. This was both a blow and a blowout, but also an ingenious rethinking of this challenging standard. That was the end of the night. Before this there were a string of different feels and times and styles: attractive, theatrical, commercial. This was clever writing and the performers played up to the opportunity. Strings of solos, trombone, trumpet, piano, bass, several drum explorations, the best I’ve heard from Henry on drums. These were big, bold sounds and indulgent grooves and they were an inspiration. Tate was studied and expansive as always, even if undemonstrative in stage presence. The trumpet pairing of Ax and Tom were in friendly but serious competition. Matt is just a master, always lyrically clear and never a faked note despite exuberant flourishes. Raf was all smiles and groove and chops as the bass doubler. I only remember one solo from Oshein, fat and bluesy. Patrick’s trombone got quite a workout. Joe himself, led from the bottom, on baritonesax, but he’s equally comfortable on alto. I think of Mingus with his heavy baritone parts and his compositions and think this fits nicely.

Other tunes? They open with a tight rollicking latin with Lola quotes and Cuban trumpets. Then a chart that could have come from variety TV, swinging lightly with a quizzical melody and cool solos. Then a blues-influenced medium tempo hard bop called Green dreaming. Then Wings with a Steely Dan influence that Joe admittedly that he garnered from his parents. Then Winter hymn, a touching secular melody. Then a blow on Supercollider, a favourite big band piece at the Jazz School, featuring the chops of much loved teacher Eric Ajaye. There’s another for composition teacher Miro, slow and with space for Miro’s trumpet and another drum feature. Then Cool change, a laid back cocktail bar latin. Then Pinoaks and that rebuild of Giant steps and a 7/4 groove and a final encore. This is clever and surprisingly mature and varied music. A fat and tight band sound and capable solos and some great writing. The band has done the dying jazz school proud. Eric Ajaye spoke to an assembled audience that students should live their dreams, despite the demise of our jazz school here in Canberra. These guys may be products of a dying institution, but they are proof that it was a success. This was a seriously mature and capable and involving band and I loved it.

Movement 9 is led by Joe McEvilly (baritone sax) with Ax Long (trumpet), Tom Sly (trumpet, flugelhorn), Matt Handel (alto), Oisin Smith-Coburn (tenor), Patrick Langdon (trombone), Tate Sheridan (piano), Raf Jerjen (bass) and Henry Rasmussen (drums). Eric Ajaye (bass), Miroslav Bukovsky (trumpet) and John Mackey (tenor) sat in for one tune each.

Never rains

Actually it was raining when I set off for Phillip Johnston and the Coolerators at the Gods but “never rains” really refers to two international jazz acts in Canberra on one night. The first was Sydney/NYC saxist Phillip Johnston with a support band of Alister Spence, Alex Boneham and Nic Cecire. I just caught one set and what a distinct style it was. To my ears this was a post-modern melange, ironic and frosty and a matter of mind rather than emotion. Phillip played a soprano sax that sounded all the world to me like clarinet, so of another era of jazz and of society: no way you could mistake this for the instrument Coltrane played. I seem to remember the tonguing as clipped, but it was unmistakably unadorned except for a characteristic swing band vibrato when reaching for high notes. The lines he played were simple, clearly stated, ironically bland. It’s more than just a musical style, but a presence, and I felt it in his wit and stage persona. Cool, otherworldly, undemonstrative. Maybe it’s the movies, but I can associate this with the big city, with NYC, with cool underground rock. It fitted that he played one tune called “Shelley’s got a brand new handbag” that nods at funk but that he performed in a NYC new wave rock band called The Public Servants. All dry with distant wit. It’s not something that’s easily received outside its milieu but it’s a noteworthy stream of alt culture and it’s interesting to hear it visiting Canberra from the source. Shelley was not funk, but unison, lightweight melody against composed accompaniments in arrangements of disparate parts and rock grooves. Maybe it’s danceable or suits a cool club scene. This is something different for the Gods. Phillip introduced the show with a solo sax passage called Splat which merged into a calypso-St-Thomas-like tune by Albert Ayler called Ghosts that was all simple chords and joyous melody and cacophony. Then an original with unison scalar snippets then a heavy funk 4/4 than some sparse latin segments and floating Leslie and synth organ amongst other solos. Then Steve Lacy’s Prospectus with complex head and some fast walk. Then Shelley, then an attractive and simple tune by folk singer Michael Hurley (Phillip noted he was not a guitar/strummer) with a characteristic folk/blues sense of time (here 4/4 interspersed with occasional 2/4 bars). Then a final Monk tune, We see, to end the set. I was impressed at how effectively the band read. Nic Cecire just nailed the feels in the most understated way. Alex Boneham is an intensely involved and musical bassist and always a joy to my ears. His accompaniment was impressive and two solos were richly melodic statements that just spoke so well to the tune, not just the chords. Alister Spence was playing organ and this seems a more romantic instrument to me. He had the easy fluency and rapid solo lines but it was the swelling organ chords that spoke to me of gospel and soul more than irony and things of the mind. I doubt that sunny Australia and harboured Sydney can do nihilist irony like NYC new wave (but I’m forgetting Nick Cave). To maintain the po-mo references, I’ll call it an interesting pastiche, but I did feel there was a diversity of approaches here. So it was an interesting and cogitatively enlivening outing. Phillip Johnston (soprano sax) led the Coolerators with Alister Spence (organ), Alex Boneham (bass) and Nic Cecire (drums).

Cyberhalides Jazz Photos by Brian Stewart

Blasts from the past

The Fabians still exist and we attended a meeting to hear Lindy Edwards, ADFA academic, ex-journalist and ex-political advisor to Senator Stott-Despoja, speaking on ideology in politics and how ideologies influence political ideas and actions. It’s the concern of her new book, The passions of politics, and the talk was to launch the book. To my ears, it’s a satisfying, historical view of politics that seems informed and with meaning.

It’s a common theme that our current politics is disheartening and I can only concur. Political philosophies, ideologies in politics, provide a base and a direction for decisions in place of the politics of immediate political wins and confused paths that comes with focus-group and shock-jock-responsive politics. Lindy had embarked on her book to make accessible the big political ideas, revive Australia’s history as radically democratic and egalitarian, and, on a personal note, to help her decide just what she believed in. She thinks that important ideas are simple but forgotten. She outlined three waves in the history of recent ideological thought: Marxist, Liberal and the dissolution of ideologies under Post-modernism. Amongst her evidence was the absence of ideologies in favour of political mechanics in current teaching in university politics and a more specific observation that a major political conference in the US that she had registered for (large! ~7,000 participants) had no sessions with titles that mentioned ideology. In contrast, communications from the current US presidential election highlight ideological matters as guides for voting and, anyway, we just have gut-feelings of ideologies underlying many policies. She argues there’s a disconnect here between practice and academia. Ideologies are historically and geographically specific and display multiple strands, but they have relevance for current politics, they inform policies and they are often shared across nations. She identifies Social democracy as one of three major ideologies (the others being Conservatism and Liberalism). Political ideologies have assumptions about human nature, share approaches to coordinating society and ideals of the good. I liked that she argued that political parties and policies are a balance of all three ideologies; no-one is pure; no one approach is without its weaknesses and strengths. The key marker of Social democracy is that it organises society through “collective deliberation on the common good”. This has dangers of elites taking control, loss of individual autonomy, deciding who’s in and out, and conflict from different meaning systems. Conservatism and Liberalism have their own problems, and all politics is always a matter of mix or balance, anyway. She wondered whether the Western ascendancy of recent centuries was fragile and prone to failure. Also whether Social democracy is the least stable of the three ideologies and whether it was durable outside the socio-economic circumstances of the last century-or-so. She argued that ideas, to gain support, must explain social reality, be consistent with existing beliefs, serve our interests and appeal to a notion of “the good”. She mentioned that the Ancient Greeks had thought about these very requirements. She said the challenge for Labor / Social democrats is to build a mass movement that supports social justice and that this social justice must support the interests of individuals in the movement. The problems to be encountered are in changing the economic structure and a splintering battle for justice. It’s here that she wondered if Social democracy is just a product of a specific era or set of circumstances.

Inevitably some interesting chatter arose from questions. Industrial social democracy was about economic equality between men, so those men may lose in new formations of Labor. Can democracy even functions without ideologies? Very interestingly, she noted that Gillard and Abbott are our first pair of leaders who were student politicians and asked whether this is why we have the point-scoring politics we now have. Megan and I came away chattering about ideologies and the state of current politics and political philosophies and with a copy of Lindy’s book. This was a frustratingly brief visit to a very large topic. Ideology has a bad name, but as political philosophy it’s admirable and a worthy concern and, if Lindy’s right, essential to an effective democracy. I particularly liked the notion of mix or balance between ideologies; that policies, parties, individuals balance political approaches in developing and applying their policies, and that all ideologies have strengths and weaknesses and that their prominence and development are functions of historical conditions. The local Fabians were a disappointingly small and mostly greying group, but the session was worthy and informed and this was a stimulating intellectual outing. Dr Lindy Edwards spoke to the ACT Australian Fabians on ideology in Australian politics and its implications for Labor.

The passion of politics : the role of ideology and political theory in Australia / Lindy Edwards. Sydney : Allen & Unwin, 2013.

The joy of a nice gig

What a great little gig I played on Thursday night. It was just a piano trio with Peter and Brenton at the Tradies: quiet, spacious, relaxed. Peter was enjoying the Kawai grand, observing that it’s well maintained and the action is not as heavy as some Kawais and just how good it is to play a real piano. I hadn’t played for a while, but I had travels and European jazz clubs in my mind, as well as some recent listening to Scott LaFaro. His voluble, melodic style was in my mind. I was happy with my solos on the night, with space and melody and structure and some fast bits, but I still dropped back to 1s in accompaniment. But my pizz was working well, and that was pleasing. Strange to say, but for me the most important tone control is the volume control, meaning you have to get that right or your pizz is either pondrous or feeble. This night I got that right and dropped out some low-mid honk and it was sounding good. Ah, how nice is that! Brenton was also relaxed and enjoying the gig and our tempos were steady and solid. Just standards but it was a very nice gig and much enjoyed. I’m glad it was because I missed two others on the night, including Ben Hauptman just a few hundred metres away at the Loft. This one was worth it: this is why you bother with all the practice and the rest. Thanks to Peter and Brenton. Peter Kirkup (piano) led a trio with Eric Pozza (bass) and Brenton Holmes (drums).

For Canberra’s 100th

I feel bereft and the final student concert at the Jazz School the other night had a sad, even teary, air about it. Eric Ajaye raised spirits with a dignified personal-recovery-from-adversity oration, and that’s admirable and true, at least to some degree. Joe McEvilly was leading the band and I was impressed by both his musical and personal maturity (he’s only 20!) as he avoided being overly political, recognising it was “too late for us” but maybe there was a future for others. I understand current students still don’t know what’s on offer next year. Some are leaving; some are staying to finish. One parent has told me of a student who had been offered a transfer but that it would extend his course by one year. Enrolments are down ~25% but the new Director expects full enrollment by the start of year. It’s a common expectation amongst the jazz community that no-one would come to Canberra for the new course. Perhaps students will pursue it as a second degree and that has some value and it’s cheaper. Good luck to the few worthy staff that remain (let alone those who have left). I imagine it will be a hard road to travel. This from an institution that been with us for half of Canberra’s 99 year life. I’m thinking that the Music School may have been the most popular cultural institution in Canberra. Certainly, tens of thousands of Canberrans signed a petition and all parties in the Legislative Assembly were disappointed with the ANU decision. Is this a 1975 Dismissal moment? The comparison sits easily with me. Remember the suddenness; remember the widely despised GG John Kerr; remember “Mantain the rage”; remember the rent to the Australian fabric. I can imagine an emotional void down Marcus Clarke St right now and some friends speak of it. My more cynical friends predict investments in high rise next to Llewellyn in a few years. I was terribly disappointed by the arguments presented, but the weakest must be to call up the conservative-bugbear of “elites”. How is this elite? Elite as in intellect and discovery like Nobel Prizes? Elite as in high university rankings? Elite as in musicians who are renowned and tour the world? Or elite as in Occupy’s 1% and $?m heads of corporations and too big to fail. With our whole society, even universities, taking the corporate path, it makes you wonder. Yep, the school was elite, but in performance not wealth and that seems perfectly admirable to me and Canberra was the better for its musical success. So, excuse the lack of a concert report. Suffice to say that it was very good. They are invited to play at Wangaratta, Australia’s main modern jazz festival, this weekend. That’s elite, stunningly so for a few students with original charts. But what more to say? Farewell.

Movement 9 played at the final ANU School of Music student jazz series of 2012. Movement 9 is a platform for arrangements and compositions by Joe McEvilly (baritone sax) with Ax Long (trumpet), Tom Sly (trumpet, flugelhorn), Matt Handel (alto), Oisin Smith-Coburn (tenor), Patrick Langdon (trombone), Tate Sheridan (piano), Raf Jerjen (bass) and Henry Rasmussen (drums). Eric Ajaye (bass), Miroslav Bukovsky (trumpet) and John Mackey (tenor) sat in for one tune each.

For a full report on the concert rather than a paean over the jazz school, see Revisiting the ninth movement

Cyberhalides Jazz Photos by Brian Stewart

New Action

New Acton is often a place of edgy, civilised, arty action. Last Saturday it was Art, Not Apart. It amused me that it was described as Melbourne-like. Melbourne has such a reputation these days, and as far as I’ve seen it fits. But this is Canberra, with its intimate scale and all-ages familiarity. It’s an intelligent community, if staid, and this was a perfect, sunny day. I’d gone to check out the Afrobeats of some mates in Nyash; all jazz school trained. But there were dancers aplenty, arty markets, a short film festival, poets, graffiti walls, a range of musics and more. Nyash were great fun. How can you not groove to Afrobeat. I loved it; many danced to it; this was seriously good cheer. Just one set, of two Fela Kuti numbers, one from the Skatalites, an original, maybe another. I understood the style by seeing it live: two guitars, one strummed, one funky single note lines; busy, synocapted but constant and repeated bass; drums and cross-rhythmic percussion; some yelps and hollers; and that neat horn front line of trombone, bari and alto saxes. Lively, insistent, involving music. I’d just caught the end of Goji Berry Jam. Then there was Schwa. This was intriguing, experimental art: improvisations of double bass, chalk and dance. Chalk? Yes, chalk wall and pavement painting. All to Rohan Dasica’s improvised double bass on pizz and bow. I was not wholy convinced, but maybe that’s too much swing and melody in my mind. This was experimental. The rhythms were there but hardly grooving like the soul of Nigeria. This was not the only experimental music. A quintet taken from classical players of the Canberra Symphony Orchestra played an original set in a style something like Miles fusion accompanying a story of outback travel. I wasn’t too comfortable with this. They were certainly capable players, but it’s a different awareness from dots on pages, as were the electronics at their feet. And perhaps the words might have been more image-rich and poetic. But there was a poet, too. I heard CJ Bowerbird with several poems, and I enjoyed these immensely, even if I missed some lines. He used deceptively common language but there was musicality and also lighthearted but serious intent. Much enjoyed. Otherwise, there were scantily dressed, body-painted girls dancing (one of many sights for very many oggling cameras), markets, demos, sales, films. I saw my first 3D printer at a geek table. I drooled for crepes but forgot to return to eat some. I watched the community graphics and joined in for a short film but didn’t await the delayed start. I played with tuned bells. The sun was direct but the shadows were gentle. This was a lovely afternoon, for all ages and all indugences (and all photographers – have I ever seen so many in one place at one time?). Some oddities of contemporary arts and some inculcated grooves. Very cool.

Urban dictionary tells me that Nyash are female buttocks with personality. Its also a local Afrobeat band comprising Dan Kempers (drums), Rafael Florez (percussion), Simon Milman (bass), Jack Palmer (guitar), Matt Lustri (guitar), Sophie Chapman (trombone), Andrew Fedorivich (alto sax), Nick Combe (baritone sax). The event was Art, Not Apart. CJ Bowerbird poetised, Schwa improvised and an ensemble taken from the Canberra Symphony Orchestra memorised; Alison and Jamie were were colourised then mobilised; Goji Berry Jam extemporised. Schwa comprised Rohan Dasica (double bass) with Adelina Larsson (dance) and David Keany (chalk). Everyone photographed.

Musea Berlin

Museums are a great joy of travel. I don’t understand the view that they are trivial fodder for tourists. Yes, tourists attend them. We certainly do and they are intellectual highlights of our trips, especially the famed museums. In some ways, I like to tick off great works, but even this is not a trivial exercise. Great works can be peak experiences, but nearby there are always lesser works that make a personal connection. For this trip, our key historical targets were in Berlin: the bust of Nefertiti and the Ishtar Gate, but we caught a string of others. We particularly like blends of history and art in our museums, rather than simple paintings on walls. I love the experience of visiting the lives of people of different eras or places in my galleries. As an example, I have a particular interest in safety pins after first discovering one in the Etruscan Museum in Perugia. A patent was granted on the safety pin in the US in the mid-1800s and they made the inventor rich, but they had existed before as clothes pins (fibulae) and more. They may not have had our technology in those days, but it’s clear they lacked nothing to our inventiveness and intellect. These discoveries excite me. I am writing this weeks after some museums and these things blur over time and visits, but what were the highlights?

The Bust of Nefertiti at the Neues Museum in Berlin was my overall highlight for this trip. It’s a near-life size, realist three dimensional head and neck that was prepared by a sculptor to inform later images. We don’t expect Egyptian art to be so lifelike but some is. This is a truly beautiful woman with long neck and dignified, confident presentation. Her skin is vivid despite its 3,300 years (I’m not sure how much is restoration) and there’s some damage. But this is a woman you could recognise and respect. She resides in a room by herself, behind glass, with several security guards and however many tourists. We had just a smattering of tourists, and just ourselves for several minutes. You can photograph without flash in German and Dutch museums, but not Nefertiti. Anyway, the photos don’t do her justice.

Megan had a life-long wish to see the Ishtar Gate. It’s in the Pergamon Museum along with a range of antiquities, mega and less so, including Germany’s answer to the Elgin Marbles, the Altar of Pergamon, as well as the Roman Gate to the Market of Miletus. These are big and imposing works. It always amazes me how the hand-hewn works of the past seem immense and impressive. You see it in cities, where 3 story church towers look tall and imposing while the 40+ story towers next to them are just functional boxes. My guess is that it’s size on a human-scale, rather than on an absolute scale, that impresses us. It fits with something I read on fractals, that fractals have detail at every level. Skyscrapers seldom have detail on the human level, just detail at a distance, so don’t impress us, as humans, at our scale. They are just big, not imposing. The Ishtar gates were part on an imposing entrance, colourful and tall. The market of Miletus was only one arch in a large town, but classically beauteous. The Altar was stunning with a tall staircase and surrounding reliefs telling mythical stories.

Museums of decorative art are favourites of ours after discovering the museum in the Louvre building. Again, this is history and art, but close to home: furniture, jewellery, clothing. The Berlin Museum of Craft and Design was closed for renovations. But we did attend the adjacent visual arts gallery, the Gemalderie, with its wonderful collections of paintings from late mediaeval through to early modern with particular strengths in early Italian, Golden-era Dutch and, obviously, north of the Alps.

Image of Bust of Nefertiti in Neues Museum, Berlin / Philip Pikart, 8 Nov 2009, from Wikicommons

Musea others

Back to Amsterdam. We took a Museum card so visited several museums, but renovations were the order of the day. The modern art museum, the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, was closed for renovations, opening the weekend we left. We’ve seen tons of impressionists and the like so no particular loss. The Van Gogh museum was busy and interesting for his development rather than masterworks but van Gogh’s not a favourite either. More interesting is the Rjiksmuseum, which is immense with a matching large collection, but this, too, was under restoration and had a disappointingly small subset of its collection on show, perhaps 20 rooms. There were Rembrandts and the Night watch, of course, and some other works of delicacy and still lifes and upright Dutch citizenry, but this was a disappointingly limited display. We visited several other museums on the card, but not so memorable.

This is not the full range of museums we encountered. An interesting trio in Bergen showed us the life of 1200s fishermen in Norway, the bachelor lives of representatives of the (German-originated, first multinational) Hanseatic League and the stone banqueting halls of mediaeval times. The Polar museum in Tromso was small and masculine, dealing with hunting and exploring. Ålesund was rebuilt after a fire in 1904 and has a gem of a museum of Art Nouveau, the Jugendstilsenteret, but its town architecture is a display in itself. Oslo has the Viking Ship Museum which is small but stunning: three virtually complete Viking ships dated ~CE900 and excavated from burial mounds around 120 years ago.

Good on the sensible Dutch and German and Norwegian museums that allow photography as long as it’s without flash.

Piggies

Megan said the Saint-Saëns had been used in Babe and I can understand why. We were at the latest performance of the Canberra Symphony Orchestra and the program was Berlioz’s Roman carnival overture, Shostakovich’s Cello concerto no.1 op.107 and Saint-Saëns’ Organ symphony no.3 op.78 in C-minor. I was particularly interested in attending to hear the organ (the Llewellyn purchased a major electronic concert organ a few years back) but in the end, it was the Shostakovich that I’ll remember. Julian Smiles played the cello solo part with dignity and at times, I thought, some wonderfully slow, pained bowing. Pained is the right approach. This was in the USSR in the era of Stalin and following the Great War, thought to end all wars. You could feel an informed dread of Stalinist threats and disquiet with the price of progress that permeated the middle years of the 20th century. I loved the clearly stated solos, the lines that echoed through the orchestra, the solemnity and intelligence, the horn that was a prominent and responsive partner to the cello, one lovely passage that really struck me of violin counterpoint against oboe melody, democratic dignity in the context of war and threat. This was my favourite piece for the night. Julian Smiles followed with a short piece from Carnival of the animals, accompanied by the heavenly sound of celeste played by Suzanne Powell. Nowhere near as profound, but tonally delightful.

I was despairing of constant coughing in the quiet passages. I wonder why this happens. I very rarely feel the compulsion, but it seems almost inevitable in a hall. Amusingly, it appeared as a rising then falling cacophony between movements at the Amsterdam Concertgebouw and in Europe. In the Llewellyn, it was frequent and evident during the quiet passages. Why is this? It’s not a young crowd, but it’s not winter, either. So I was at least pleased with the louder works that muted the coughing. The show opened with Berlioz. No great recollections here, although it was lively and attractive and popular music. The final work was Saint-Saëns’ Organ symphony. I was interested in the sound of the organ and initially a little disappointed. The tone was right but it didn’t seem to have the presence of the real thing until some loud chords that boomed over the orchestra. It’s then I thought of the volume of this thing, and also the tuba. Both were used here, and both overwhelmed the orchestra when they upped their volume. To me, the Saint-Saëns appeared a meek Beethoven, with swells and crescendos and classical/romantic cross, but lacking the inevitability and variation and nowhere near as satisfying or involving. I recognised one passage after the organ hits - an attractive passage of floating piano and strings melody - but I found it hard to ignore (and not to be disappointed by) the ghost of Beethoven. As we moved out for interval, it was interesting to hear one woman say this was the best she’d heard, seemingly having attended numerous performances of the work. That’s interesting.

This was another successful CSO presentation. I was educated and entranced by Shostakovich and well satisfied by the others. Our local orchestra does a great job. The Canberra Symphony Orchestra performed Berlioz’s Roman Carnival Overture, Shostakovich’s Cello concerto no.1 op.107 and Saint-Saëns’ Organ symphony no.3 Op.78 in C-minor at the Llewellyn Hall. Julian Smiles played cello for the Shostakovich, Amy Johansen played organ for the Saint-Saëns and Nicholas Milton conducted.