During my life I've experienced most forms of performance, but opera -- with the exception of Bizet's Carmen -- is the main exception. Frankly, most of it's just too... OTT for my taste.
However, I have the strange feeling that I may actually force myself to go to Sadler's Wells next year...
Sadler’s Wells Will Present Prima Donna, The New Opera By Rufus Wainwright In April 2010.
Having received its premiere at the Manchester International Festival on Friday 10 July, Prima Donna is the debut opera composed by the acclaimed singer-songwriter Rufus Wainwright.
It is realised with award-winning director Daniel Kramer, British designer Antony McDonald, leading French conductor Pierre-André Valade, celebrated soprano Janis Kelly and the combined talents of Opera North. With a French language libretto co-authored by Wainwright and Bernadette Colomine, Prima Donna tells the tale of an ageing opera singer in 1970s Paris, anxiously preparing for her return to the stage after a six year absence.
A co-commission with Sadler’s Wells, Prima Donna will feature in the Spring 2010 season, appearing for a run at the theatre in April 2010.
Sadler’s Wells Artistic Director Alistair Spalding says: “I’m delighted to have worked with the Manchester International Festival to produce this new venture in opera, which I hope will introduce a whole new audience to the genre. Rufus has written a eulogy to the art form that he loves so much, and I’m delighted to be presenting this at Sadler’s Wells which has had a rich history of successful associations with opera in the past.”
14 July 2009
Patient Care
It was my doctor's idea, connected in some way with my diagnosis of Type Two diabetes (oh -- have I mentioned that before?); anyway, yesterday afternoon I popped across to the Western Infirmary to have an ultrasound abdominal scan.
The more I think of it, the more annoyed I get. Not because I had to wait half an hour after my appointment before I was seen; not because the only reading material in the cramped waiting room was a selection of celeb magazines or a couple of medical information signs; not because being in hospital again brought back memories of mum's last few weeks... No, it was when I was taken in, and the scanning started.
While the staff were polite enough in what can't be said to be a normal social situation, the guy actually doing the scan (and telling me when to breathe in and out) seemed far more keen to show the on-screen results to a junior medical student -- who just suddenly appeared with no warning or request -- than bothering with me. Perhaps I should've spoken out, demanding to see what my insides looked like, but it was only afterwards when I was sent out with a general OK, that it began to hit me.
I thought I'd gone there for a medical check up. The impression I got, though, was that I was a lump of meat only there for medical training. I'm not happy.
The more I think of it, the more annoyed I get. Not because I had to wait half an hour after my appointment before I was seen; not because the only reading material in the cramped waiting room was a selection of celeb magazines or a couple of medical information signs; not because being in hospital again brought back memories of mum's last few weeks... No, it was when I was taken in, and the scanning started.
While the staff were polite enough in what can't be said to be a normal social situation, the guy actually doing the scan (and telling me when to breathe in and out) seemed far more keen to show the on-screen results to a junior medical student -- who just suddenly appeared with no warning or request -- than bothering with me. Perhaps I should've spoken out, demanding to see what my insides looked like, but it was only afterwards when I was sent out with a general OK, that it began to hit me.
I thought I'd gone there for a medical check up. The impression I got, though, was that I was a lump of meat only there for medical training. I'm not happy.
13 July 2009
Torchwood -- a prologue
Writer James Moran, who was part of the team working on Torchwood: Children on Earth, has had some negative twitter reactions to the third (and final?) series.
Nothing to do with me, honest.
But if you're at all interested, click here for his response.
Nothing to do with me, honest.
But if you're at all interested, click here for his response.
12 July 2009
Learning About Death
My boss's daughter recently lost her goldfish -- that's 'lost' as in it died. Sadly, Swishy the Fishy (her choice of name) shuffled off this mortal coil, headed for the great fish tank in the --
No, sorry; this isn't a Monty Python sketch.
When I heard the news, I said something along the lines that, among the many reasons children should have access to pets (building an understanding of the world, responsibility, germ control, etc), it's a relatively subtle way of introducing them to the concept of death and letting them experience grief in a relatively controlled manner. Actually, it's not just death. I can still remember my surprise and wonderment when the two guinea pigs I said goodnight to on the Friday night had suddenly transformed into two guinea pigs (one of whom was much slimmer than she had been) and three or four baby guinea pigs. Cue some basic, age-appropriate (I was five) information about the facts of life.
And, being a relatively short-lived species prone to all manners of diseases and illnesses, I eventually saw most of those guinea pigs die.
Curiously enough, Scotland on Sunday's literary editor Stuart Kelly wrote on this subject this weekend, as a nephew had recently 'lost' a dog. "Pets are a kind of pyschological antibody for the idea of grief," he suggested. "Most children will begin with the short-lived hamsters, then guinea pigs and rabbits, moving on to cats and dogs as their resilience to loss develops."
Now, while I've paid lipservice to this theory for quite a while, the fact is that -- in all honesty -- I can't really say to what extent, if any, the death of several family pets (the majority of whom were buried at the bottom of the garden with full pomp and circumstance, complete with little grave stones) actually prepared me in any way for the death of my father, when I was seven years old. Seeing death -- fictional and real -- on television was just as much a pointer; I do remember all the fuss about the assassination of Bobby Kennedy in June 1969, for example. And it wasn't until much, much later that it finally sunk in; yes, sooner or (hopefully) later, I'd die too.
In one way, though, the deaths of several family pets did lay some foundation stones within my personality. I think it was soon after the family dog, Lassie, had been put down -- she was 17 years old, and effectively everything apart from her appetite had stopped working. I was eight. A friend of the family at the local church must have picked up on me saying that "Lassie was in heaven now," and -- I'm quite sure with the best intentions -- she gently explained to me that dogs didn't go to heaven because they didn't have souls. Probably seeing how upset I was at this -- Lassie had, after all, been a fixture of the family for the best part of a decade before I was even born -- the woman then went on (with rather doubtful Biblical justification, it has to be said) to tell me that God made sure that all good dogs went to Dog Heaven.
Eight years old, I decided that Heaven was clearly a crap place if it didn't have any dogs -- or other pets. And so, my first doubts began to appear about the whole 'Greatest Story' I was being taught in the Church of Scotland.
No, sorry; this isn't a Monty Python sketch.
When I heard the news, I said something along the lines that, among the many reasons children should have access to pets (building an understanding of the world, responsibility, germ control, etc), it's a relatively subtle way of introducing them to the concept of death and letting them experience grief in a relatively controlled manner. Actually, it's not just death. I can still remember my surprise and wonderment when the two guinea pigs I said goodnight to on the Friday night had suddenly transformed into two guinea pigs (one of whom was much slimmer than she had been) and three or four baby guinea pigs. Cue some basic, age-appropriate (I was five) information about the facts of life.
And, being a relatively short-lived species prone to all manners of diseases and illnesses, I eventually saw most of those guinea pigs die.
Curiously enough, Scotland on Sunday's literary editor Stuart Kelly wrote on this subject this weekend, as a nephew had recently 'lost' a dog. "Pets are a kind of pyschological antibody for the idea of grief," he suggested. "Most children will begin with the short-lived hamsters, then guinea pigs and rabbits, moving on to cats and dogs as their resilience to loss develops."
Now, while I've paid lipservice to this theory for quite a while, the fact is that -- in all honesty -- I can't really say to what extent, if any, the death of several family pets (the majority of whom were buried at the bottom of the garden with full pomp and circumstance, complete with little grave stones) actually prepared me in any way for the death of my father, when I was seven years old. Seeing death -- fictional and real -- on television was just as much a pointer; I do remember all the fuss about the assassination of Bobby Kennedy in June 1969, for example. And it wasn't until much, much later that it finally sunk in; yes, sooner or (hopefully) later, I'd die too.
In one way, though, the deaths of several family pets did lay some foundation stones within my personality. I think it was soon after the family dog, Lassie, had been put down -- she was 17 years old, and effectively everything apart from her appetite had stopped working. I was eight. A friend of the family at the local church must have picked up on me saying that "Lassie was in heaven now," and -- I'm quite sure with the best intentions -- she gently explained to me that dogs didn't go to heaven because they didn't have souls. Probably seeing how upset I was at this -- Lassie had, after all, been a fixture of the family for the best part of a decade before I was even born -- the woman then went on (with rather doubtful Biblical justification, it has to be said) to tell me that God made sure that all good dogs went to Dog Heaven.
Eight years old, I decided that Heaven was clearly a crap place if it didn't have any dogs -- or other pets. And so, my first doubts began to appear about the whole 'Greatest Story' I was being taught in the Church of Scotland.
"Exercise their Sexuality"
"I am aware that there is a reasonable percentage of the human race who have homosexual inclinations, and I am sorry if that's the way John Smith or Mr Y feels its necessary to exercise their sexuality. I would say it's against the natural law which governs the human race. Not against any man-made law or church-made law. It's just against nature."
-- Cardinal Keith O'Brien, speaking to Peter Ross, in today's Scotland on Sunday.
Even ignoring the research showing how homosexual behaviour is rife through the animal kingdom, which of course rather suggests its an innate part of nature, how often does humanity usually keep to 'nature' in its activities?
I feel sorry for the man; I really do. Trapped in his own vicious little bigotries and, despite professing Christian love of his fellow man and woman, quite willing to wallow in the tabloid gutter with the worst of them if it'll get him a headline. That he's supposedly a moral and ethical guide for us all would be laughable if it wasn't so damn pathetic.
And what's with this "exercise their sexuality" anyway? Is sexuality something that gets flabby if you don't go to the gym frequently?
-- Cardinal Keith O'Brien, speaking to Peter Ross, in today's Scotland on Sunday.
Even ignoring the research showing how homosexual behaviour is rife through the animal kingdom, which of course rather suggests its an innate part of nature, how often does humanity usually keep to 'nature' in its activities?
I feel sorry for the man; I really do. Trapped in his own vicious little bigotries and, despite professing Christian love of his fellow man and woman, quite willing to wallow in the tabloid gutter with the worst of them if it'll get him a headline. That he's supposedly a moral and ethical guide for us all would be laughable if it wasn't so damn pathetic.
And what's with this "exercise their sexuality" anyway? Is sexuality something that gets flabby if you don't go to the gym frequently?
07 July 2009
Torchwood Day One
Well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. Last night, as the titles zoomed past over the close of “Day One” of Torchwood: Children of Earth, I sat there stunned. Totally unexpectedly, I’d actually enjoyed the show. Oh, I still have fundamental problems with the basic concept of Torchwood (what, there are now just three of them?), but at least those didn’t keep cutting the ropes suspending my disbelief, as generally happened while watching the first episodes of Series One and Two.
The main reason seems to be a sudden attack of restraint by everyone involved in the show; John Barrowman no longer seemed to be on the point of bursting into a show tune – nor, as Stuart Kelly of Scotland on Sunday put it, was he assuming a need to “emote frantically to a row of deaf pensioners at the back of the theatre”. The show’s previous assumption that “grown up” actually meant "needing a large box of tissues" also seemed to have been kicked out, replaced with a genuine sense of humour that made the main characters slightly more... human. As he can do, Russell T Davies effectively held back from giving away too much, provided some genuinely creepy moments (he’s not a writer afraid to nick from the best, in this case John Wyndham’s The Midwich Cuckoos), and -- thanks to the hitherto unseen family backgrounds for both Ianto and Captain Jack -- grounded and defined the characters more in five minutes than the previous two seasons in total.
And it helps too that the move to BBC One has been clearly marked by an excellent cast: Peter Capaldi is, of course, superb but I sense that Nicholas Farrell’s Prime Minister could be one to watch in the scary stakes. Also, while I know we were supposed to like Rik Makarem’s Dr Patanjali, I’m still sad that he won’t be joining the Torchwood team on a regular basis. But he’s definitely an actor on the way up.
So, rather unexpectedly, I will be watching the second episode of Torchwood tonight. Who'd have thought it?
Let’s just hope they don’t mess up what actually was a good beginning.
The main reason seems to be a sudden attack of restraint by everyone involved in the show; John Barrowman no longer seemed to be on the point of bursting into a show tune – nor, as Stuart Kelly of Scotland on Sunday put it, was he assuming a need to “emote frantically to a row of deaf pensioners at the back of the theatre”. The show’s previous assumption that “grown up” actually meant "needing a large box of tissues" also seemed to have been kicked out, replaced with a genuine sense of humour that made the main characters slightly more... human. As he can do, Russell T Davies effectively held back from giving away too much, provided some genuinely creepy moments (he’s not a writer afraid to nick from the best, in this case John Wyndham’s The Midwich Cuckoos), and -- thanks to the hitherto unseen family backgrounds for both Ianto and Captain Jack -- grounded and defined the characters more in five minutes than the previous two seasons in total.
And it helps too that the move to BBC One has been clearly marked by an excellent cast: Peter Capaldi is, of course, superb but I sense that Nicholas Farrell’s Prime Minister could be one to watch in the scary stakes. Also, while I know we were supposed to like Rik Makarem’s Dr Patanjali, I’m still sad that he won’t be joining the Torchwood team on a regular basis. But he’s definitely an actor on the way up.
So, rather unexpectedly, I will be watching the second episode of Torchwood tonight. Who'd have thought it?
Let’s just hope they don’t mess up what actually was a good beginning.
03 July 2009
Living for Tomorrow
Wise people say we shouldn't live in the past -- it's dead and gone, and the only way we have (at least for the time being) is forward. Similar wise people say we also shouldn't live in the future -- it hasn't happened yet, and if we look too much into next week, next month, next year, we run the risk of missing what's happening now, in the present.
Those wise people obviously don't work in magazine publishing.
The July/August issue of one of the magazines I work on arrived from the printers today. Even as that issue was sent down to the printers, however, most of the content for the following September/October issue was either already written or part way through the copy flow system. And, of course, I'm already considering some feature ideas for our November/December issue. That's when I'm not thinking about articles for the August/September and October/November issues of our other bimonthly title. Or, indeed, the winter edition of our quarterly magazine (currently scheduled in for November).
Having at least a toe in the future is an occupational necessity.
Nor, clearly, do those aforementioned wise people review books.
It just recently occured to me that I can't clearly remember the last time I went into a bookshop to do more than buy a coffee. Don't get me wrong. I'm not -- repeat, not -- complaining about getting free books (even if they're typo-filled Advanced Reading Copies) -- good grief, I know I'm a lucky sod. But I can't help but feel somewhat disconnected from what's actually turning up in the bookshops now -- these days, I'm regularly thinking at least three months ahead, checking through the catalogues so I can request books in time to read and review them before their respective publication dates.
All I can say is that I'm glad I don't work in actual book publishing -- in that industry, you have to think at least a year ahead!
Those wise people obviously don't work in magazine publishing.
The July/August issue of one of the magazines I work on arrived from the printers today. Even as that issue was sent down to the printers, however, most of the content for the following September/October issue was either already written or part way through the copy flow system. And, of course, I'm already considering some feature ideas for our November/December issue. That's when I'm not thinking about articles for the August/September and October/November issues of our other bimonthly title. Or, indeed, the winter edition of our quarterly magazine (currently scheduled in for November).
Having at least a toe in the future is an occupational necessity.
Nor, clearly, do those aforementioned wise people review books.
It just recently occured to me that I can't clearly remember the last time I went into a bookshop to do more than buy a coffee. Don't get me wrong. I'm not -- repeat, not -- complaining about getting free books (even if they're typo-filled Advanced Reading Copies) -- good grief, I know I'm a lucky sod. But I can't help but feel somewhat disconnected from what's actually turning up in the bookshops now -- these days, I'm regularly thinking at least three months ahead, checking through the catalogues so I can request books in time to read and review them before their respective publication dates.
All I can say is that I'm glad I don't work in actual book publishing -- in that industry, you have to think at least a year ahead!
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