Origin of species

I have a question for all the Americans out there. Why, when speaking about your nationality, is it invariably in a double-barrelled form?

It suggests to me a form of validation, suggesting that being American alone is insufficient. Being able to trace your ancestors back to another country may well make for interesting genealogy, but with each successive generation the individual culture brought over all those years ago is distilled, to the extent that any pretence of being from Greece, for instance, gradually becomes a mockery, one dependent upon the very basics. The limited availability of Greek foods, to take one example, leaves the self-proclaimed Greek-American family clutching at straws, taking the little they can find, with the result that the original culture boils down into stereotypes. It's said that none are so English as the English abroad, usually with reference to holidaymakers, but it applies equally to emigrants.

Somewhere along the line, I suspect, the pride with which the immigrant boasted his origins - "America's my adopted home but I'm from Ireland", that sort of thing - turns into a formulaic expression, so that some years down the line, it's bereft of any power. I recall hearing about Matt LeBlanc complaining, when required to keep a trim figure for Joey, that "I'm Italian and in my thirties". I'm sorry, that's not fooling anyone: we all struggle to keep our weight down, so by this stage, it's become little more an excuse.

That said, the worst of it has been, predictably enough, on the internet, a place where shorthand is rife. Confusion abounds when, in a chatroom, I greet someone who tells me they're German with the words "wie geht's?' and they don't understand a word of it, and don't get me on to the person from Jersey who'd not even heard of the Channel Islands ...

Don't get me wrong here: I'm not saying that any attempt to maintain so much as a semblance of another culture in America is a sham: it's just inevitable that in a melting-pot society, the finer points of what makes up a specific culture do tend to get lost.

To finish on a more positive note, I wonder if a subconscious desire for liberal America to place a distance between themselves and the country as a whole hasn't come into the equation, as a means of showing that the America is not united behind Bush. This system of dual cultures is not so recent as to have evolved from the current political climate, but it'd be heartening to think it's resulted in increased cultural awareness.

Hammering the point home

If the readings at evensong today are anything to go by, Biblical characters would have been superb in the modern age, showing something of a knack for composing algorithms.

(Abram and Lot's living conditions have become a tad cramped; when their herdsmen have a difference of opinion, Abram divines the following solution.) Separate thyself, I pray thee, from me: If thou wilt take the left hand, then I will go to the right; or if thou depart to the right hand, then I will go to the left. (Genesis 13:9)

(Jesus, in the third chapter of the Sermon on the Mount, is spelling things out in words of mostly one syllable.) Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit: but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit. A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. (Matthew 7:17-18)

Eleanor, sitting in front of me, suggested the readings were a bit predictable. Personally, I was all for adding the following passage:

(God ensures St Attila is in no doubt about the correct deployment of what would subsequently become an Holy Relic.) First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin. Then shalt thou count to three: no more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three; five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards thy foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it. (Armaments 2:17-21)

The bee currently residing in my bonnet

In my days in CD retail I'd frequently get irritated by customers coming in and telling me about this song they were after. Now do correct me if I'm wrong, but by my understanding, a song is a piece of music which is, by definition, sung - in other words, there has to be a human voice involved. Why then refer to any musical composition as a song?

Last night I saw pretty conclusive evidence of this being a wide-spread problem. I tend to sit through the end credits of most films and last night was no exception, having recognised a lot of the music in Casanova as Rameau and being curious to see whether there'd be confirmation of this. I'm still a little bemused over this preference for French baroque music considering the richness of Venetian music of the time, but was even more aghast to see the list of music used come under the heading "songs", despite vocal compositions only accounting for one or two of the forty or so pieces credited.

Now I realise that the vast majority of popular music (in the broadest meaning of the term) is vocal, but even those rare tracks which do not involve singing are referred to as instrumentals. (I'm not sure if this is meant as an adjectival noun or whether there is an implied, unspoken noun which follows.) For all that, no-one in their right mind could say that the word "song" and its various derivatives are beyond the comprehension of the average native English-speaker.

It's another case of lazy English, and if it's crept into film credits, I suspect this particular (ab)use of the language will prove very difficult, if not impossible, to correct. Oh well, more proof that I'm old-fashioned and pedantic ... as if you didn't know.

The choir party

I had meant to write about this soon after the event but never got round to it, but given the quality of this year's vintage I do want to make a point of commemorating it, even at this late stage, so here goes ...

A bit of background to start off with: there's a choir dinner every December, a more-or-less formal event held at one of the private golf clubs, attended by current and retired members of the choir, along with the clergy. The choir party, which usually takes place in late January, is an altogether more relaxed affair hosted by the rector and his family. His wife, who sings soprano in the choir, takes it upon herself to cook a choice of main courses, while members of the choir share out responsibility for salads, desserts and the like (I contributed a tartiflette and a Sachertorte this year). The other thing to point out is that the evening culminates in a cabaret put on by various members of the choir: a chance for us all to let our hair down, so to speak.

On the culinary front, it was a superb occasion: Claire outdid herself in the kitchen and there was a delicious choice of salads. The dessert buffet was as good as ever, with the highlight proving to be by far the simplest dish: raspberries in redcurrant jelly, just sharp enough to set off the richness of the other dishes.

As for the cabaret, it was fabulous. Last year's consisted almost entirely of musical items, most of them sung, but this time round we had clarsach (Scottish harp) music, a trombone duet, a thoroughly idiomatic recitation of Burns' Tam O'Shanter in addition to all the singing. My main contribution was a rendition of the Méditation from Massenet's Thaïs (which had been performed at the Fringe concert we sang in last year), only with a twist: not being a violinist, I shared soloist duties with Eleanor, turning it into a tribute to I'm sorry, I haven't a clue. Yes, we played it on kazoo and swanee-whistle - it was a hoot. Mother, who'd arrived in Edinburgh that afternoon, demanded to know afterwards why no-one recorded these things ...

(If you're unfortunate enough not to know ISIHAC, here's some information on it; I can also recommend listening to a recent broadcast - click on "Comedy & Quizzes" and scroll down the alphabetical list.)

As it happened, the day of the choir party was also Luke's 30th. I'd spoken to him during the afternoon - before he'd got a chance to get horribly drunk - and am glad to say he was delighted with the present I got him: the full score of Così fan tutte, a mutual favourite which we'd seen at ENO three years ago in a sparkling production. We're now busy working out when one of us can visit the other again ...

An update on work, or the lack thereof

The three positions I applied for before leaving my last job all came back negative and there's been absolutely nothing of interest in the papers since. Thankfully two other interesting vacancies have come my way: box office staff for the Edinburgh Festival (a six-month contract, nothing too far removed from CD retail) and PA/librarian for the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, which sounds fascinating. I'll report on progress as and when ...

Winding down at work

I've been playing host again - my mother's been over for a short visit and seen three films in as many days, not to mention going to the ballet last night. She's leaving this morning so I'll be catching up with my usual round of reviews tonight.

For my part, I've got a whole two shifts (that's 15 hours) left before my career in retail, such as it is/was, comes to an end. I've had quite a few of my regulars pop round this week, one of whom caught me completely off-guard by producing a leaving gift for me: a bottle of champagne, no less!

An air of desparation seems to have crept in among the bosses, who are struggling to find someone to take over; on the one hand their disorganisation is not my concern, but on the other it's very unfortunate that I don't get to show my successor the ropes, so to speak, thus ensuring a sense of continuity. As it is, it looks very likely there'll be a couple of weeks in which my colleagues from DVD will be covering in the classical department, which isn't exactly fair on them. It's all very well the bosses wanting to get the right person for the job, but there are limits.

Two rejection letters have come my way, from the gallery and the Fringe Festival, meaning there's only one answer I'm still waiting to receive at the time being, about which I can't say I'm all that optimistic as they require one year's experience in arts marketing, which isn't my case. In the meantime, another position has come up for grabs with one of the local orchestras: they're after a PA/librarian. Never mind the experience I've got from my current job: given how meticulous I am about my own CD collection (I've even got a database, for pity's sake), I'd like to hope I'm in with a chance.

Four years in retail: a look back

I've written about my stranger customers before, but this isn't the purpose of this post. While I'll miss some (and be glad to be shot of others), I'm wondering more about the withdrawal symptoms, if you will, from no longer working in CD retail.

Speak to any one of my colleagues and they will tell you it's become second nature, when seeing an untidy CD rack, to put some order into it - pushing CDs back upright, filling gaps, that sort of thing. Many of us in fact find it difficult to restrain ourselves even in other CD shops; you really have to make an effort to keep your hands away from the CDs, to restrain yourself. As of Friday, I won't be required to do any of this, anywhere, but I expect it'll be a while before I can tame this automatic gesture.

I've also become very used to offering recommendations on available recordings of any given piece, even outside work - the sort of thing that arises in conversation, where my opinion is (for better or worse) seen as being of some value. Again, it'll probably prove difficult not to do this, especially as I can imagine some of my friends and acquaintances may take some time to understand that I'm no longer bang up-to-date with new recordings.

One of my supervisors, back when I'd just started in CD retail - working for the competition, in London - asked me if I'd done this before as I'd taken to it like a duck to water (quite a compliment, considering my lack of experience). I put it down more to my polite disposition, making an effort to treat all queries with the same courtesy, no matter what I may think of the customer's tastes. While I don't imagine that'll change for a moment, I've noticed that I'm apt to be over-polite as a customer in other shops, stepping out of someone's way with the words "excuse me", more often than not followed by "Sir" or "Madam", which is taking it a little far. Thankfully this is something I seem to have picked up only recently so I trust I can ditch it with relative ease.

That said, having to be courteous to complete scumbags, who would never get away with such ill-mannered behaviour elsewhere, is not something I'll miss. One of my previous supervisors often said that we should have "honest Thursdays", maybe once a month or thereabouts, days on which we could let rip, or at least tell customers when they are being unreasonable/rude/irreconcilably stupid (feel free to add to this list).

I'm sort of wondering if I shouldn't go down that route, maybe gradually over the next week, in an effort to minimise the likely withdrawal symptoms. It's bound to be a lot of fun, allowing myself to tell people that the compilation they want to get (Chilled out classics or the like) is a load of bollocks, that Russell Watson is a dreadful singer or that Bond may be a string quartet but that doesn't mean they play classical music. It needn't even be restricted to all the crossover repertoire, as I could come out with a few choice remarks concerning the more serious side: Simon Rattle's umpteen recordings with the Berlin Philharmoniker aren't anywhere near as good as they ought to be, or Cecilia Bartoli's voice, once gorgeously rich, now verges on the screechy. Oh, and you know that recommendation I gave you on Bruckner's 9th you're always going on about? Complete bluff, mate, I've never even heard the piece (at least, not knowingly) and as it happens, you misread my enthusiasm: Bruckner does sod-all for me ...

Who knows, I might yet come out with a line I've wanted to say for years. (I've nothing against the piece in question but the pun's there for the picking, so ...) "Carmina burana? Carl Orff - as in 'bugger'."

Sheep!

I am often to be found stalking the streets of Edinburgh muttering this word to myself, usually after crossing a road having fought through a vast concord of my fellow pedestrians just standing there waiting for the light to change.

My father, over the last ten years or so, grew increasingly disillusioned with driving in Britain, stating that British drivers lacked in initiative, being perfectly content to trundle along behind another car, making no attempt to overtake despite being under the speed limit. Regrettably this attitude seems to have spread to pedestrians as well, people meandering all over the pavements with no obvious purpose, seemingly unaware of there being anyone else around them, still less of others' attempts to get past them. I've even got to the stage of keeping a lookout for any fast-approaching shadows coming up behind me so I can move out of the way of someone in a greater hurry than me.

I abhor crowds at the best of times, which is part of the reason for my having enjoyed working in retail for the last four years. When you're stuck behind the counter on a busy Saturday afternoon, you're not having to negociate the crowds of shoppers yourself. True, if the shop itself is heaving with people, it can be like an ever-evolving obstacle course, but it still beats only having the weekend in which to do your shopping. (There are other things I will miss about retail, but that's for another post.)

So to a certain extent, I can put up with it indoors. I've nothing - well, not much - against people milling around in shops or the like as long as they don't clog up the pavements. As far as I'm concerned, pavements are to pedestrians what roads are to drivers: a means of getting from A to B, not a tourist spot. Wander around once you've reached your destination if you must, but not on your way there. But at all times, please, please realise that there are other people around you. Pay attention. Don't be oblivious to your surroundings.