As a Yorkshireman born and bred, I've always had a fondness for the work of Alan Bennett, and his play 'The History Boys' is one of my particular favourites. It concerns the trials of a groups of sixth-form students working towards the Oxbridge entrance exam in the early 1980s, the machinations of their starved-of-success headmaster desperate to enhance the reputation of the school above all else, and the conflict between the different teaching styles of Hector and Irwin.
The Crucible Theatre in Sheffield is currently showing the play, and I was delighted to be there last Friday evening. The story was well-told in this production, using music from the period to good effect and the cast to move scenery & props to change locations around the school. The cast worked well together - it was very much a team performance rather than a collection of individuals, and they were led by a brilliant Matthew Kelly as Hector, taking on the role made famous on stage and screen by the late Richard Griffiths.
I approached this performance with a little trepidation, as the film version which I'd seen previously was of such good quality that I wondered how they could possibly come up to that standard. That film, blessed as it was by so much great young talent - Russell Tovey, Dominic Cooper & James Corden to name but three, set a high bench mark for the play, but this cast came through admirably well, playing it with humour and pathos in equal measure, and engaging the audience throughout.
A wonderful production, and a great evening. Another triumph for Sheffield Theatres!
Monday, 3 June 2013
Rush - Sheffield Arena 28 May 2013
When you've been in the business as long as Rush - it's 40 years next year since their eponymous debut album was released - you have to have something about you in order to remain at the top of you game for so long. Recently recognised for their contribution to rock music with a place in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, Rush seem to have that 'something'.
A year on from the release of their 19th studio album, 'Clockwork Angels', the Canadian trio brought their new material, along with a fair selection from the extensive back-catalogue, to the Motorpoint Arena in Sheffield. They'd last been there on their 'Time Machine' Tour in May 2011, and can always count on a good following from this part of the world.
The set was, as I've mentioned, wide-ranging from their back catalogue, with the majority of material in the first half of the show coming from the 80s & 90s. Standards of their repertoire such as 'Subdivisions', 'Tom Sawyer', 'Far Cry' and 'Spirit of Radio' were great crowd-pleasers. The second half of the show focused on the latest offering 'Clockwork Angels', essentially a concept album though not played in its entirety nor in album order. For it they were joined by a live string section, who clearly relished playing the music and rocked along as they played. They concluded with some of their 70s material (more my cup of tea), ending with a blinding rendition of the opening and closing sections of 2112.
The staging of the show was good: lighting, pyrotechnics and video brought a lively dimension to the performance: not that there was anything lacking in the vitality of these old rockers, fast approaching or just passed 60 (despite Geddy Lee's joke about them needing a break half-way because of their age!). The musicianship from all three of them was excellent. My only gripe about the show was the sound quality, but that may be due to our seats being to the side of the stage and quite high up, rather than front ¢re.
On the whole not a bad night out for a father who remembers this band from his teens, and his son who's still there!
A year on from the release of their 19th studio album, 'Clockwork Angels', the Canadian trio brought their new material, along with a fair selection from the extensive back-catalogue, to the Motorpoint Arena in Sheffield. They'd last been there on their 'Time Machine' Tour in May 2011, and can always count on a good following from this part of the world.
The set was, as I've mentioned, wide-ranging from their back catalogue, with the majority of material in the first half of the show coming from the 80s & 90s. Standards of their repertoire such as 'Subdivisions', 'Tom Sawyer', 'Far Cry' and 'Spirit of Radio' were great crowd-pleasers. The second half of the show focused on the latest offering 'Clockwork Angels', essentially a concept album though not played in its entirety nor in album order. For it they were joined by a live string section, who clearly relished playing the music and rocked along as they played. They concluded with some of their 70s material (more my cup of tea), ending with a blinding rendition of the opening and closing sections of 2112.
The staging of the show was good: lighting, pyrotechnics and video brought a lively dimension to the performance: not that there was anything lacking in the vitality of these old rockers, fast approaching or just passed 60 (despite Geddy Lee's joke about them needing a break half-way because of their age!). The musicianship from all three of them was excellent. My only gripe about the show was the sound quality, but that may be due to our seats being to the side of the stage and quite high up, rather than front ¢re.
On the whole not a bad night out for a father who remembers this band from his teens, and his son who's still there!
Wednesday, 10 April 2013
Margaret Thatcher
Well, we've all had a few days now to come to terms with the fact that Britain's first female Prime Minister has died, at the age of 87, after struggling for the past few years with the effects of dementia. In the immediate aftermath of her death there was much said in many forums that was emotive, passionate, vitriolic and downright abusive, but these were the kinds of feelings that 'The Iron Lady' seemed able to engender in people - whether they were her supporters or her detractors.
It's not easy - certainly for those of us who lived through her leadership - to be ambivalent about Margaret Thatcher. I turned 18 in 1979, and so the first election she won was the first I had voted in (though not for her or her party). To some, she's the Woman who saved Britain; to others the woman who destroyed Britain. For those of us from the north of England she will be forever synonymous with the erosion of the traditional industries of coal-mining, ship-building and steel-making, and the almost civil war of the 1984-85 miners' strike, which tore apart so many communities and families in our industrial heartlands, and pitched ordinary working folk against the 'bobbies on the beat' who had for so long been stalwarts of decency and community.
Margaret Thatcher always professed to be a person of faith. She was brought up under the Methodist umbrella in Wesley's home county of Lincolnshire, but showed little of his Arminian zeal for the excluded and marginalised in society; she famously quoted the Prayer of St Francis on the steps of 10 Downing Street following her victory in 1979, but then promulgated policies that seemed to reverse the sentiment of that prayer, bringing discord, hatred and division and sending the country to war in the South Atlantic. I have to confess that I have always found it hard to see her as a fellow-traveller, following in the footsteps of Jesus, though I concede that she may have felt the same way about me.
There is no doubt that her legacy is huge and tangible. Not only do the present government of this country look to her with almost sanctified awe (as did Blair and his ilk), but the present financial crisis we find ourselves lumbered with is, it seems to me, as a direct consequence of the policies that she and her government adopted and fostered. Thatcher and her '-ism' made greed virtuous, and politicised a Darwinian 'survival-of-the-fittest' mentality which led to 'the fittest' being 'the richest'. Upward mobility was almost deified, but obviously came at the expense of those unable to lift themselves as high as others. 'Labour isn't working' (as the Saatchis had screamed from the hoardings in 1979) became its own parody, as unemployment soared, and Society (of which there was no such thing, according to Mrs T) gave way to the individual, out for all that they could get. Credit beyond peoples' means was encouraged, so that we could have all that we wanted now, and thus we got used to living on borrowed cash (and, as we have now discovered - at least those on the lower rungs of life's ladder - borrowed time too).
I do not rejoice (one of her favourite words) at her passing, though I have to confess that the first thing to pass through my mind when I heard of her death was a particular song from 'The Wizard of Oz'. Nor do I, though, rejoice at the effect she and her policies had on this country. We will never be the same because of her - but not, to my mind, in a good way.
It's not easy - certainly for those of us who lived through her leadership - to be ambivalent about Margaret Thatcher. I turned 18 in 1979, and so the first election she won was the first I had voted in (though not for her or her party). To some, she's the Woman who saved Britain; to others the woman who destroyed Britain. For those of us from the north of England she will be forever synonymous with the erosion of the traditional industries of coal-mining, ship-building and steel-making, and the almost civil war of the 1984-85 miners' strike, which tore apart so many communities and families in our industrial heartlands, and pitched ordinary working folk against the 'bobbies on the beat' who had for so long been stalwarts of decency and community.
Margaret Thatcher always professed to be a person of faith. She was brought up under the Methodist umbrella in Wesley's home county of Lincolnshire, but showed little of his Arminian zeal for the excluded and marginalised in society; she famously quoted the Prayer of St Francis on the steps of 10 Downing Street following her victory in 1979, but then promulgated policies that seemed to reverse the sentiment of that prayer, bringing discord, hatred and division and sending the country to war in the South Atlantic. I have to confess that I have always found it hard to see her as a fellow-traveller, following in the footsteps of Jesus, though I concede that she may have felt the same way about me.
There is no doubt that her legacy is huge and tangible. Not only do the present government of this country look to her with almost sanctified awe (as did Blair and his ilk), but the present financial crisis we find ourselves lumbered with is, it seems to me, as a direct consequence of the policies that she and her government adopted and fostered. Thatcher and her '-ism' made greed virtuous, and politicised a Darwinian 'survival-of-the-fittest' mentality which led to 'the fittest' being 'the richest'. Upward mobility was almost deified, but obviously came at the expense of those unable to lift themselves as high as others. 'Labour isn't working' (as the Saatchis had screamed from the hoardings in 1979) became its own parody, as unemployment soared, and Society (of which there was no such thing, according to Mrs T) gave way to the individual, out for all that they could get. Credit beyond peoples' means was encouraged, so that we could have all that we wanted now, and thus we got used to living on borrowed cash (and, as we have now discovered - at least those on the lower rungs of life's ladder - borrowed time too).
I do not rejoice (one of her favourite words) at her passing, though I have to confess that the first thing to pass through my mind when I heard of her death was a particular song from 'The Wizard of Oz'. Nor do I, though, rejoice at the effect she and her policies had on this country. We will never be the same because of her - but not, to my mind, in a good way.
Sunday, 10 March 2013
A Mother's Tale
I was struck by a minor dilemma this week when preparing for worship: how do you combine the Parable of the Prodigal Son - essentially a tale of a father & two son - with Mother's Day? My solution was to try and look at that story, so well-known in Christian lore, from the mother's perspective - not easy for a bloke!
The response to what I came up with has been such that I felt it would be right for me to share it on this forum. Don't be shy at letting me know what you think: does it speak to you? Does it shine new light on an old story? Or is it just fanciful nonsense?
A Mother's Tale
I suppose our family is much the same as many others – there are times when everything is peace and calm and love and understanding; and then there are the normal days! Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love my two boys: it’s just there are moments when it seems they can’t bear to be on the same planet as each other, never mind the same room!
Simon – he’s the elder of the two – he’s always been the conscientious one, you know: takes being the ‘first-born’ very seriously. As soon as he could he went off to agricultural college, so that he’d know how to run the farm properly – did well too; got his head down and studied hard – not really a natural student, but came away with a good qualification. And Jo & I were really proud of him.
Josh, now he’s a different sort altogether: headstrong, adventurous, lippy, winds his dad and his brother up all the time. In a way I blame myself: he was a bit of a surprise, shall we say, and it wasn’t an easy pregnancy, and we thought we’d lost him at one stage, but it all worked out in the end. But I think we spoiled him a bit, you know, what with being the ‘baby’ of the family – there’s 8 years between him and Simon, you know.
I’ll never forget that evening. Josh had just turned 17; we were sat round the dinner table enjoying a nice bit of lamb, and Josh turned to Jo and asked him “What’s my share of the farm worth?” Well, Jo was a little taken aback, and Simon just glared at him over the peas. My first thought was whether he’d got himself into trouble, you know, and needed a little help. “Why do you ask, son?” said Jo. “Well, to be honest” he said, “I’m sick of life here. I want to get out and see the world, experience things, taste things, you know. I don’t want to be stuck here all my life, and to be frank I can’t wait for you to die before I can enjoy all this. So, give me my share now.” Simon stood up and shouted: “How dare you talk to Dad like that!” and there was a lot of other things said that I don’t want to repeat, and they both stormed out with much door-slamming. When they’d gone, Jo & I just sat there: I was aching inside, and I knew Jo was upset because he didn’t say a word.
The next day Jo got up early and went into town. He was gone ages, but when he came back he called Josh in and gave him a large envelope. “You know that Simon gets twice as much as you, because he’s the elder, don’t you? Well, here’s ⅓ of what this place is worth: take it, but that’s it – there’s no more.” And with that he turned and left the room. Josh looked at the envelope for a few seconds, then opened it, flicked through the notes and smiled that cheeky smile of his. Then he was off up to his room, and half an hour later, with his rucksack on his back, he was away through the door with nothing more than a “See ya!” as he left.
On the surface life went on much as before after that, except that it was noticeably quieter. We didn’t hear anything from Josh directly, though some neighbours who’d been over to the city said that they thought they’d seen him, a little worse for wear shall we say, with a rowdy group the other week. I do wish he’d just let us know he’s OK. But I’ve noticed a change in Jo since Josh left: he seems a lot quieter in himself, and in an evening he’s taken to going off by himself for a walk down the lane towards the main road. Most evenings he just stands at the end of the track, staring down the road. Simon just gets on with things: doesn’t seem to miss his brother at all; in fact I’ve even heard him saying to some of the farm-hands “Good riddance to him!” Breaks my heart to hear him say things like that, but what can you do?
It’s been months now since we’ve heard anything. We occasionally talk with those who go to the city, but no-one seems to have seen or heard from him. Oh, why doesn’t he just come home? I’m sure we can sort things out. Jo still goes for his evening walks, but always seems a little sadder when he comes home.
I can’t believe it! I never thought I’d see this day! It’s Josh: he’s home! Jo had gone out as usual this evening, and it seems that he’d spotted this dishevelled character coming along the road – he almost smelled him before he saw him! Jo’d turned away, but something made him look again at him, and then he recognised him. He looks like he’s hardly eaten for weeks; unshaven and unwashed, but that didn’t stop Jo: he ran up to him and threw his arms round him and wouldn’t let him go for ages. When he did let go, Josh just collapsed at his feet in tears. Then he told Jo what had happened to him since he’d left us: how he’d gone off to the city and partied; made lots of new friends, until the money had run out; and then he’d struggled to get a job and ended up back on a farm, but this time looking after pigs of all things. The pay was more or less nonexistent, and he ended up sleeping in the sty, he was so desperate! He even thought about eating the pig-swill, he was so hungry at times! Oh, my poor boy!
Then, he said, one night he started thinking: “Even the farm-hands at home do better than this. I can’t go on living in this way: I’m going to have to swallow my pride and go home, ask dad if he’ll take me on as a farm-hand.” So he upped and set off home.
“We’re having none of that!” Jo said. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done: you’re my son and nothing is ever going to change that. Work as a farm-hand, indeed!” The he called me over and told me to prepare that calf we’ve been fattening up: we’re going to have the biggest party there’s ever been! I say, OK, but first things first: let’s get this boy in a nice hot bath and get him some clean clothes.
Naturally Simon heard all the commotion and wanted to know what was going on. When I told him he was furious and stormed off to the barn by himself. Jo told me to leave him be; he’d have a word with him later. For now, let’s celebrate! Josh’s back!
Half way through the night Simon still hadn’t shown his face, so Jo went to find him. He was still behind the barn, chuntering to himself. Jo said to me later that he’d never seen him so angry. “I’ve stuck by you and mum through thick and thin”, he said, “even through that winter when we got foot & mouth and we could’ve lost everything. And what thanks do I get, eh? You’ve never once told me to invite my mates round for a party. And this waste of space of a son of yours” – he couldn’t even bring himself to call Josh his brother – “he comes back after blowing his inheritance on wine, women & song, and this happens! It’s just not fair, dad!”
Jo didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then he just said softly: “Simon, I’ve never been good at talking about feelings: I usually leave that to your mother. But we’re so grateful that you’ve been here all this time, especially when things were tough, and you know that this is all yours when we’ve gone. Nothing can take that away from you. But you also know that your mum & I have been worried sick about Josh since he left us; we didn’t even know until today whether he was alive or dead. But now we know: our son…your brother… is alive! We can’t help but want to celebrate. If not for Josh, then come in for me and your mother.”
And you know: that was the best Mother’s Day we ever had.
The response to what I came up with has been such that I felt it would be right for me to share it on this forum. Don't be shy at letting me know what you think: does it speak to you? Does it shine new light on an old story? Or is it just fanciful nonsense?
A Mother's Tale
I suppose our family is much the same as many others – there are times when everything is peace and calm and love and understanding; and then there are the normal days! Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love my two boys: it’s just there are moments when it seems they can’t bear to be on the same planet as each other, never mind the same room!
Simon – he’s the elder of the two – he’s always been the conscientious one, you know: takes being the ‘first-born’ very seriously. As soon as he could he went off to agricultural college, so that he’d know how to run the farm properly – did well too; got his head down and studied hard – not really a natural student, but came away with a good qualification. And Jo & I were really proud of him.
Josh, now he’s a different sort altogether: headstrong, adventurous, lippy, winds his dad and his brother up all the time. In a way I blame myself: he was a bit of a surprise, shall we say, and it wasn’t an easy pregnancy, and we thought we’d lost him at one stage, but it all worked out in the end. But I think we spoiled him a bit, you know, what with being the ‘baby’ of the family – there’s 8 years between him and Simon, you know.
I’ll never forget that evening. Josh had just turned 17; we were sat round the dinner table enjoying a nice bit of lamb, and Josh turned to Jo and asked him “What’s my share of the farm worth?” Well, Jo was a little taken aback, and Simon just glared at him over the peas. My first thought was whether he’d got himself into trouble, you know, and needed a little help. “Why do you ask, son?” said Jo. “Well, to be honest” he said, “I’m sick of life here. I want to get out and see the world, experience things, taste things, you know. I don’t want to be stuck here all my life, and to be frank I can’t wait for you to die before I can enjoy all this. So, give me my share now.” Simon stood up and shouted: “How dare you talk to Dad like that!” and there was a lot of other things said that I don’t want to repeat, and they both stormed out with much door-slamming. When they’d gone, Jo & I just sat there: I was aching inside, and I knew Jo was upset because he didn’t say a word.
The next day Jo got up early and went into town. He was gone ages, but when he came back he called Josh in and gave him a large envelope. “You know that Simon gets twice as much as you, because he’s the elder, don’t you? Well, here’s ⅓ of what this place is worth: take it, but that’s it – there’s no more.” And with that he turned and left the room. Josh looked at the envelope for a few seconds, then opened it, flicked through the notes and smiled that cheeky smile of his. Then he was off up to his room, and half an hour later, with his rucksack on his back, he was away through the door with nothing more than a “See ya!” as he left.
On the surface life went on much as before after that, except that it was noticeably quieter. We didn’t hear anything from Josh directly, though some neighbours who’d been over to the city said that they thought they’d seen him, a little worse for wear shall we say, with a rowdy group the other week. I do wish he’d just let us know he’s OK. But I’ve noticed a change in Jo since Josh left: he seems a lot quieter in himself, and in an evening he’s taken to going off by himself for a walk down the lane towards the main road. Most evenings he just stands at the end of the track, staring down the road. Simon just gets on with things: doesn’t seem to miss his brother at all; in fact I’ve even heard him saying to some of the farm-hands “Good riddance to him!” Breaks my heart to hear him say things like that, but what can you do?
It’s been months now since we’ve heard anything. We occasionally talk with those who go to the city, but no-one seems to have seen or heard from him. Oh, why doesn’t he just come home? I’m sure we can sort things out. Jo still goes for his evening walks, but always seems a little sadder when he comes home.
I can’t believe it! I never thought I’d see this day! It’s Josh: he’s home! Jo had gone out as usual this evening, and it seems that he’d spotted this dishevelled character coming along the road – he almost smelled him before he saw him! Jo’d turned away, but something made him look again at him, and then he recognised him. He looks like he’s hardly eaten for weeks; unshaven and unwashed, but that didn’t stop Jo: he ran up to him and threw his arms round him and wouldn’t let him go for ages. When he did let go, Josh just collapsed at his feet in tears. Then he told Jo what had happened to him since he’d left us: how he’d gone off to the city and partied; made lots of new friends, until the money had run out; and then he’d struggled to get a job and ended up back on a farm, but this time looking after pigs of all things. The pay was more or less nonexistent, and he ended up sleeping in the sty, he was so desperate! He even thought about eating the pig-swill, he was so hungry at times! Oh, my poor boy!
Then, he said, one night he started thinking: “Even the farm-hands at home do better than this. I can’t go on living in this way: I’m going to have to swallow my pride and go home, ask dad if he’ll take me on as a farm-hand.” So he upped and set off home.
“We’re having none of that!” Jo said. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done: you’re my son and nothing is ever going to change that. Work as a farm-hand, indeed!” The he called me over and told me to prepare that calf we’ve been fattening up: we’re going to have the biggest party there’s ever been! I say, OK, but first things first: let’s get this boy in a nice hot bath and get him some clean clothes.
Naturally Simon heard all the commotion and wanted to know what was going on. When I told him he was furious and stormed off to the barn by himself. Jo told me to leave him be; he’d have a word with him later. For now, let’s celebrate! Josh’s back!
Half way through the night Simon still hadn’t shown his face, so Jo went to find him. He was still behind the barn, chuntering to himself. Jo said to me later that he’d never seen him so angry. “I’ve stuck by you and mum through thick and thin”, he said, “even through that winter when we got foot & mouth and we could’ve lost everything. And what thanks do I get, eh? You’ve never once told me to invite my mates round for a party. And this waste of space of a son of yours” – he couldn’t even bring himself to call Josh his brother – “he comes back after blowing his inheritance on wine, women & song, and this happens! It’s just not fair, dad!”
Jo didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then he just said softly: “Simon, I’ve never been good at talking about feelings: I usually leave that to your mother. But we’re so grateful that you’ve been here all this time, especially when things were tough, and you know that this is all yours when we’ve gone. Nothing can take that away from you. But you also know that your mum & I have been worried sick about Josh since he left us; we didn’t even know until today whether he was alive or dead. But now we know: our son…your brother… is alive! We can’t help but want to celebrate. If not for Josh, then come in for me and your mother.”
And you know: that was the best Mother’s Day we ever had.
Saturday, 2 March 2013
English Electric (Part 2)
2012 proved to be a classic year for Progressive Rock music, and one of the many outstanding albums to be released was Big Big Train's 'English Electric (Part 1)' (my album of the year for 2012). Big Big Train have been producing consistently good and increasingly excellent music for a number of years now, and their latest offering, the second part of English Electric, has just been released to much anticipation.
What can be said about this work of art? - for that is what it is. Like much of their work it is immediately evocative of both the heyday of Progressive music from the 1970s and an essential Englishness that the title might imply: there is even a 'guest appearance' from Sir John Betjeman! But although there are echoes of bands like Genesis ('Worked Out' for me has hints of 'Driving the Last Spike' about it) they are in no way seeking to ape their style: here is a distinctiveness all their own.
The music is emotive and emotional; well-written - both lyrically and melodically - and equally well-played; David Longdon's vocals can soar and swoop like a swallow in flight; and how many bands within the breadth of the Rock genre would include strings, a banjo and a brass band in their arrangements?
The songs bring back images of an England from decades past: an England of steam trains, shipyards and coal mines, and of ruined abbeys and butterflies. For a band from the South coast to take this northern 'lad' back to his halcyon days is something that took me aback, but in a good way!
This is part 2 of a collection, and naturally there are echoes in this collection of its worthy predecessor, most notably in 'The Permanent Way' (which perhaps should've closed the album) taking us back to the closer of Part 1, 'Hedgerow', and to its opener, 'The First Rebreather'. Together they present a work that I have no doubt will be looked back on by generations to come as a classic of the Progressive genre. If only more people could/ would listen to such sublime music! And if only we could see this music performed live sometime!
What can be said about this work of art? - for that is what it is. Like much of their work it is immediately evocative of both the heyday of Progressive music from the 1970s and an essential Englishness that the title might imply: there is even a 'guest appearance' from Sir John Betjeman! But although there are echoes of bands like Genesis ('Worked Out' for me has hints of 'Driving the Last Spike' about it) they are in no way seeking to ape their style: here is a distinctiveness all their own.
The music is emotive and emotional; well-written - both lyrically and melodically - and equally well-played; David Longdon's vocals can soar and swoop like a swallow in flight; and how many bands within the breadth of the Rock genre would include strings, a banjo and a brass band in their arrangements?
The songs bring back images of an England from decades past: an England of steam trains, shipyards and coal mines, and of ruined abbeys and butterflies. For a band from the South coast to take this northern 'lad' back to his halcyon days is something that took me aback, but in a good way!
This is part 2 of a collection, and naturally there are echoes in this collection of its worthy predecessor, most notably in 'The Permanent Way' (which perhaps should've closed the album) taking us back to the closer of Part 1, 'Hedgerow', and to its opener, 'The First Rebreather'. Together they present a work that I have no doubt will be looked back on by generations to come as a classic of the Progressive genre. If only more people could/ would listen to such sublime music! And if only we could see this music performed live sometime!
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