Sweet FA

The good old days

For the last 15 years I have been reduced to watching the FA Cup Final from afar, in retrospect, or not at all. Today I watched the four goals which Arsenal knocked in against Villa on YouTube in what looked like a one-sided but entertaining match.
During the first half of the 70s when I was between 9-14 years old, the FA Cup and particularly the final were very big deals for me and my brother. I remember in the school playground, in the week or two leading up to the Chelsea-Leeds match of 1970, everyone had to choose their team. I've no idea way we chose Leeds. We'd never even been there. Perhaps it was the crisp white kit?  Anyway, they lost following a replay, but no matter, Leeds were now our team. They won the next one (in its centenary year), and a couple of years later made it to the final again (losing to Sunderland). 
We would watch all the build-up, the teams having their breakfast, It's An FA Cup Knockout, interviews with the wives and groundsmen… And as 3 o'clock got nearer we'd lay out a rug out in front of the telly with all our Leeds paraphernalia: rosettes, pennants  scarves, mugs, rattles, stickers. We'd watch the coaches arrive, crawling through a sea of fans. Switch to the hallowed turf of Wembley for the marching band and the Queen being introduced to the players (…and this, Ma'am, is Alan Clarke, otherwise known as 'Sniffer'; and Peter Lorimer - he's got the hardest shot in football you know… Oh really, is that so?), and then over to Barry Davies, John Motson or Brian Moore. When someone scored it was a truly momentous, almost religious, event. I can still remember Charlie George scoring the winner in 1972 and simply lying down (at the time quite an unusual form of celebration). And then we'd watch it all over again on Match of the Day.  
Now? Well, it's easy to say it's not the same, but it isn't. Any mid-table league match will get a few hours devoted to it. Who cares about the Cup (let alone the other one, whatever it's called) when all that really matters is getting into the Champions League or avoiding relegation. Could I name the last five FA Cup winners? Could I not.

Silence

Matt Wright's Totem for Den Haag

How hushed can you get? 
We've been working with Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival and their kind-of equivalent here, Cepromusic, to get some collaborations going. Graham Mckenzie, Artistic Director of the former, came over last year for initial discussions and he's back again, this time with composers James Dillon and Matt Wright in tow. Lots of meetings, a public talk, rehearsals and interviews preceded a well-attended concert in PBA's smaller chamber orchestra hall. 
The programme featured Matt Wright's brand new Totem for Den Haag (five musicians reacting to a video of three vari-speed turntables - hypnotic), Rebecca Saunders' Stirring Still I, and James Dillon's 45-minute New York Triptych. The last was quite challenging and highlighted the issue of how certain music needs absolute quiet to best appreciate it. Of course it is impossible to sit absolutely still and silent for 45 minutes and sure enough the creaks, occasional coughs, somebody dropping something, another person getting up and leaving halfway through, the extraneous noise from outside the hall, even the musicians turning a page of the score… all made their presence felt. But if one is to make such a quiet piece of music (or at least with passages that are very quiet) for public performance, then I think you just have to accept that it's not going to be like a controlled recording where such interventions are excised. I remember last summer attending a Laurence Crane concert in London which was consistently affected by ambient noise (which somehow kind of added to the experience) and of course John Cage's 4:33 is the supreme example of ambient intrusion, but Dillon's piece really did need silence. 

Theatre or Dance?

Gecko Theatre Co have been touring Mexico for the last week or so. Liz and I took A & N to see their last show at the Teatro Julio Castillo this evening. The show is Missing. It's part play, part dance work and a lot of amazing visual effects. I saw it two years ago in Edinburgh but it still surprises. The story's very simple really: Lilly tries to come to terms with her past, her parent's divorce, her mother's departure, has some therapy and forgives her. Her mother was a dancer and the story is one long piece of exquisite choreography. But it's more than that. It also feels like a film. Much of the action is quite literally framed, and there are moments of fast-forward and rewind, brilliantly accomplished in real time. There is dialogue, but it's sparingly used, in different languages, sometimes gobbledygook. 
Our girls kind of got it, but it was pretty existential stuff. At the end, N asked "What does 'existential' mean?"  Um… oh look it's raining. Where are the umbrellas? Shall we go now?

The Tuxedomoon Connection

Two big events today: the monthly UKMX programme board and a fundraising dinner at the National Museum of Art. But it's the little events that sometimes stand out. I had a quick lunch with Carlos Becerra in my favourite cafe in Roma. Aside from organizing concerts (he did the Mute Festival a couple of months ago), he runs an interesting label and record shop called Independent Recordings, which he co-founded with Steven Brown of Tuxedomoon (who these days lives in Oaxaca, here in Mexico). Carlos used to be their tour manager in Europe. He have me a big bunch of Mexican CDs and vinyl. Now that's what makes me happy.

Big Numbers

Mexicans are not shy about numbering their homes. Whereas in England you sometimes have to hunt high and low - below a letterbox, tiny numerals on a post, sometimes nothing at all - in Mexico City it's in your face.

Eurovision

The Eurovision Song Contest: so bad it's good. Last night the 2015 show was won by Sweden with a song called 'Heroes', but not that 'Heroes'. The first time I watched ESC, now including Australia for some reason, Sweden were also winners. But that was Abba. 
One of the weirdest performances was by Telex, the 'Belgian Kraftwerk', in 1980. I remember looking forward to it. Three guys, two keyboards and a modular Moog behind singer Michel Moers. Unfortunately the song, 'Euro-Vision', was rubbish. Of course it was meant to be rubbish - the lyrics were a send-up of the competition itself. They hoped to finish last, but Portugal spoiled it all by giving them 10 points so they finished a boring 17th. But that wasn't the weirdest. Now if you really want to see some genuinely 'out there' performances, check out this top 10 selection.

Speechless

Another Nyman concert, this time at the Teatro de la Ciudad with his Band and the Mexico City Philharmonic Orchestra. Interesting programme: some short familiar soundtrack pieces from his Band to begin with; Symphony no.2 with full orchestra (together with a projected compilation of  snippets of 20th Century Mexican cinema); and ending with Musique a Grand Vitesse from 1993. 
But the evening began with a strange incident. A couple of days ago, a Mexico City official phoned us to say he would be making a speech onstage before the concert began and would I like to say a few words about UKMX? So I said yes and got there early, but no sign of the official. Turned out the Philharmonic musicians wanted to talk to him about pay or conditions or something. So finally he arrived backstage and onto the stage we went. Just as he was about to speak, a heckler in the audience shouted out "We're already 20 minutes behind time. We didn't come here to see you, we came to see Nyman!"  Some applauded, others tried to shhhh him, but ultimately it had the effect of truncating his speech and under the circumstances I decided not to give mine. Actually, I had some sympathy for the guy...