Classical Music Hall of Fame

The Classic FM Hall of Fame is always a pleasurable listening experience over the Easter weekend, as they count down the top 300 pieces of classical music, as voted for by the public each year. However, I am starting to feel that the public are losing imagination as this year the top 6 were exactly the same as they were last year, and even in the same order, and the top 2 haven't changed (besides swapping every so often) for at least 8 years. This surprises me because over the 21 years of the chart there have been many changes and my personal choices have varied enormously as I'm made aware of new (usually old) pieces and as my tastes change. I still approve of and appreciate much of highest placed pieces but my top few would be a little different.

Here are the Top 15 from this year's Hall of Fame:

1. The Lark Ascending - Vaughan Williams
2. Piano Concerto no.2 - Rachmaninov
3. Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis - Vaughan Williams
4. Enigma Variations - Elgar
5. Piano Concerto no.5 - Beethoven
6. Miserere - Allegri
7. Clarinet Concerto - Mozart
8. Symphony no.6 - Beethoven
9. Symphony no.9 - Beethoven
10. Cello Concerto in E minor - Elgar
11. Violin Concerto no.1 - Bruch
12. Adagio for Strings - Barber
13. 1812 Overture - Tchaikovsky
14. The Planets Suite - Holst
15. The Armed Man - Jenkins


By comparison here are my Top 15 classical pieces (as they currently stand)

1. Enigma Variations - Elgar
2. Violin Concerto no.1 - Bruch
3. Piano Concerto in A minor - Grieg
4. Cello Concerto in E minor - Elgar
5. Clarinet Concerto - Mozart
6. Piano Concerto no.2 - Rachmaninov
7. Spiegel im Spiegel - Arvo Part
8. 1812 Overture - Tchaikovsky
9. The Armed Man - Jenkins
10. The Planets Suite - Holst
11. Jazz Suite no.2 - Shostakovich
12. Miserere - Allegri
13. The Lord of the Rings (soundtrack) - Shore
14. Scheherazade - Rimsky-Korsakov
15. Piano Sonata no.14 (Moonlight Sonata) Beethoven

The really tricky thing is that it is so difficult to compare any two pieces of music and that is why I have voted for 13 different pieces in the past 7 years and why I expect my favourites to change regularly. My hope is that there will be at least some change on Classic FM in the future too!

The Problems of Adventuring

The little boat crunched ashore and the three explorers congratulated each other on their successful voyage. For months they had stood on the cliffs of their native homeland and gazed across the huge expanse of water, but now they were here, the first to arrive on this foreign soil.

There was no-one around, no-one to welcome them. Clearly no-one had seen them as they approached; but then, they told each other, no-one would be expecting them, or maybe there was no-one else here at all.

They looked across the wide and flat land. It was grey and muddy and boring.

‘Bit of dump this place, isn’t it?’ Bruce said.

‘Yeah not much here,’ added Dexter.

             After a moment however Silas did spot something: a road a long way off. ‘Well’, they said, ‘it must lead somewhere. So they made towards it, the sticky silt oozing between their toes.

‘Wish I’d bought my bog boots,’ Silas said, ‘At this rate I’m going to get trench foot.’

‘Well, at least you have long legs,’ said Dexter, ‘I wouldn’t want to be in Bruce’s shoes. A case of trench armpit is more likely with him.’

The taller two watched as Bruce tried to pick his way through the mire without ending up to his knees in stagnant, sand-hopper infested sludge, his rotund midriff wobbling as he walked.

Once on the road, which was little more than dirt-compacted track, they picked a direction and set off. For more than half an hour it remained deserted and rather lacking in signposts, but finally they saw someone coming towards them. The man, who was walking at a tremendous pace, began shouting at them from a long way off and waving his arms about.

None of them could understand a word he was saying but just before they collided Bruce realised the man wanted them to move to the other side of the road. However, that split-second of deliberation was too long for Dexter and Silas as the man sent them sprawling into the ditch. He then bounced off Bruce’s belly onto the opposite side of the track, leaving Bruce clutching his knees, winded. Instead of stopping, however, the man picked up his pace again and passed them, still shouting and shaking his head.

Dexter crawled out of the ditch on his hands and knees and using Bruce as a hoist got to his feet. ‘Stupid man.’ he said picking bits of bracken out of his mouth. ‘Do you think they all walk on the wrong side of the road?’

 

 

Mud Wars with the Scots

Old enmities awoke today as the plucky English, heavily outnumbered, sometimes by as many as 12 to 1, bravely attempted to right the many wrongs of previous skirmishes with our northern neighbours.

The battle took place in badly waterlogged ground at Winmarleigh Hall in Lancashire and the Englishman (me) successfully tied down several of the scots on many occasions (they didn't have a choice seeing as I needed them to belay for their fellow soldiers on Jacob's Ladder) in order to inflict much grubbiness to their faces. They in turn launched long range mud missiles with some success, but most were deflected by my armour (raincoat).

The battle lasted all afternoon and some of the scots became almost unrecognisable but rallying at the end their numbers proved too much and I succumbed to heavy bombardment. I did however have the final say as both sides retreated - to the showers.

Today I gazed at stars

Today I gazed at stars
and pointed out constellations to bewildered children
who became obsessed with Betelgeuse,
while their teachers tried to fall asleep
in the darkness of the planetarium.

What’s a supernova and how far is a light year again?
Is it Jupiter with the rings and which planet is blue?
Is that named after a Roman god or a Greek one?
To be honest, I haven’t got a clue.

Creators - Short Story no.2

Ariana lay back in the mid-morning sunshine, gazing at the bright, blue sky.
               “You should be careful,” said Ruben, beside her, “you’ll hurt your eyes.”
               “It doesn’t bother me,” she replied.
               “What doesn’t?”
               “The light. And anyway, the sun is so beautiful.”
               “Nah, it’s just a burning mass of helium, and one day it’ll go out, but I intend to make the most of its heat while it’s still there.”
               Ariana didn’t say anything. After a while Ruben rolled on to his side to look at her. He stroked her arm softly, but she continued to stare into the sky.
               “What you thinking?” Asked Ruben.
               “About stars going out. They last a long time, but like everything else they are destroyed and then remade as something else. Like those new stars.” She lifted a long arm and pointed to the sky.
               Ruben looked up. “What new stars, you can’t see stars in the day time, and even at night you need a telescope to see nebulas.”
               “You do,” said Ariana.
               “And you don’t, I suppose. You can see all the stars and watch them dying and being born.”
               “It’s all part of being a creator.”
               “I don’t understand you, sometimes,” said Ruben shaking his head and lying back down.
               “No, and that’s all right. You don’t have to understand everything you know. Not knowing is wonderful too. It means you can still be filled with wonder.

Thoughts on being an EFL groupie

This week at PGL I have been a group leader for 63 Italians and their teachers. As with all groups it’s much easier when they listen, do what you ask and are generally polite, which this group was, but this week has extra fun. Even though I couldn’t get to know the young people really well because of the language barrier we have had some great moments playing games, singing (indoor campfire - it was too cold outside apparently), dancing (disco went on a long time), teaching them some English words and trying to learn some Italian. In the end I think my list of words stretches to:
     Tavolo (Table)
     Sedia (Chair)
and an Italian tongue twister that a couple of girls taught me, which goes like this:
     Supra la panca la capra campa
     Sutto la panca la capra crepa
which, translated into English, is something about goats and benches (I think like all tongue twisters it's nonsense, but they were struggling to explain it to me).

The strangest thing to get my head around is that they're basically the same as any other English group. They listen to the same music, wear similar clothes, play table tennis and table football, lose stuff on buses (like mobile phones and passports - we got them back) and laugh at you when you mispronounce their names. It's just that conversation is limited to a few words (they did get better over the week) and many hand gestures. Still I'll miss them, for a little while at least. 

  

Creators - Short Story no.1

James was running hard, his shoes slapping against the pavement erratically. He turned around corners and disappeared up dark streets, silent in the late hour. Every now and then he would hear other feet and shouts and occasionally a siren would whirr, but he kept running. His heart beat fast with the exertion and fear.
               Suddenly a figure leapt from the shadows and grabbed his jacket. “Gotcha, stand still, this is the police,” the man said from behind.
               James instinctively shot out his left arm, directing it towards the feet of the man. Immediately green shoots burst from the ground, wrapping around his feet and legs, tying him to the spot. James wriggled free from the policeman’s grasp and leaving him there he ran on again.
               Streetlights cast their orange glow on the tarmac and James dodged each one as best he could, warier than ever. More footsteps sounded behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to see two policemen chasing at a distance. Again James stretched out his arm and the ground came to life as long tendrils rose up, tripping the men and pulling them to the ground. James didn’t stop to watch.
               Further on he dived into a darkened doorway to catch his breath and consider his options. He needed to cross the river, but the bridge was risky. It was open and bright. Still, he couldn’t wait any longer. He darted out again, hugging the buildings for as long as he could. When he drew level with the bridge he ran out, ducking low and sprinting as fast as he could. The water rippled dully below him but James kept his eyes dead ahead. The end of the bridge drew nearer and then he was off it, turning left and running along the embankment. The road was narrow with a low wall on the river side and tall buildings on the other. Then ahead of him, hidden by shadows James saw a line of policemen, blocking his path. Immediately two police cars pulled out behind him, preventing retreat. James reached out both arms and charged. The ground literally writhed with plants growing up around the police line, then tuning he directed his attention at the two cars out of which more officers had arrived. They, too, quickly found themselves rooted to the spot.
               “Stop,” shouted a clear voice.
               James turned to see someone stepping from the line of policemen. He fired out his hand and shoots rose up, but this time they withered and fell back. Again James reached out but again the plants barely brushed the legs of this newcomer before falling away. James looked up to see the person remove her hat and long golden hair spill out around her shoulders.
               “No, not you,” he said breathlessly. Then darting forward, he grabbed the woman by the neck and pinned her to the wall.
               “Let her go,” called another voice, even higher and clearer than the woman’s.
               James looked around to see a girl, no more than twelve push through the line of policemen, still held fast to the ground. James stretched his hand towards her but once more the green shoots rose up and withered.
               “How is that possible,” James whispered.
               The girl pulled back her hood. She too had long golden hair and bright eyes that shone even in the dim light. James relaxed his grip on the woman and stared at the girl. The girl started back and James saw that her eyes were not the same as the woman’s but more closely resembled another’s he knew well.
               “Natasha,” he said, softly.
               The girl blinked and glanced at the woman who had collapsed to the ground. “Mother,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, how does he know my name?”
               “Because,” said James, stepping towards Natasha, who instinctively stepped away, “I know your mother and-”
               “No you don’t,” snarled the woman from the ground.
               James looked round as she pushed herself up and then ran at him catching his arm and pulling it back. He grimaced and looked around. His plants were beginning to relax and the police were fighting to free themselves.
               “The police are going to take you, James,” said the woman, still gripping his arm tightly.
               “Then they’ll be taking the wrong man,” he replied through gritted teeth.
               “It’s over, James,” she said, ignoring him and pushing him further back towards the river until his legs touched the stone wall. Over her shoulder he saw the first policeman break free and run towards him.
               “It’s never over,” he said, and suddenly wrapping his free arm around the woman he fell backwards over the wall, pulling her with him.