Fame at last!

This poster was displayed outside the church towards the end of Holy Week. It took a lot of effort to suppress a snorty laugh as I walked past it.

The service was recorded but the sound quality was not all I'd hoped so I won't be posting the audio file of my O vos omnes here. If you'd like a copy, feel free to ask.

The common cold

Back in my schooldays, there were 123 different types of rhinovirus. You can only catch each one once during your lifetime as your body develops an immunity to it, but that still leaves the potential for two colds a year.

Oh well, I suppose that's another one off I can tick off my list.

This one time, at band camp ...

I'm going to be away for the next few days. It's the annual choral retreat (for want of a better word) to Cumbrae, one of the Western Isles, which is essentially an excuse for fun and games, with a lot of drinking and a bit of singing thrown in for good measure.

No flutes are involved.

He speak French not so good, isn't it?

Britain, along with a good deal of the English-speaking world, has long been saddled with a reputation for deplorable standards when it comes to speaking other languages. I remember being vaguely insulted, on a summer course in Salzburg back in 1993, when one of my teachers said how very unusual it was to meet an Englishman who could speak another language. For many years fought against this perception of my country: the advent of the European Community, I staunchly believed, had to be a catalyst for change.

Now I've moved beyond refusing to accept this argument to trying to understand why the British continue to be viewed as anything but linguists. The jigsaw’s a complicated one, but I believe I’ve found another piece.

Of all my memories of my childhood in France, one of the clearest is writing conjugations of French verbs up on the blackboard as part of our grammar lessons. I've seen something similar in Germany, another country where they take the learning of their own language pretty seriously, and for all I know other countries do the same, making sure schoolchildren have a good grasp of their own language. While part of it may be to safeguard their language and culture against the influences of others (i.e. English), it's still an admirable trait, one which I have never come across in British schools.

Ask a British child how the English language functions and chances are he or she will be unable to tell you. We have very little idea of the workings of our own language, so it's not surprising we should struggle with others. Grammar is something of a stumbling-block in learning other languages, and therefore something of a turn-off.

Two personal anecdotes to illustrate this: I was the only student of German in my class to have studied Latin previously, another language rich in grammar, and thus the only one for whom the concept of cases (nominative, accusative, genetive and dative) was easy to grasp - some of my peers struggled right into their A-level year. On the flip-side of the coin, it was something of an eye-opener, when working as an English language assistant in Vienna, to be presented with the words "English" and "grammar" in conjunction. I'd never even heard of the preterit ...

Hilaire Belloc’s satirical Cautionary verses includes a poem about a frankly nauseating boy by the name of Charles Augustus Fortescue:
He extremely fond of sums,
To which, however, he preferred
The Parsing of a Latin Word.
We know, therefore, that the time of its publication (1896) the British knew something of grammar, though this analysis of a word in terms of its function within a sentence has long since disappeared from the curriculum. I’m not necessarily suggesting it’s a practice we should resurrect, but clearly something needs to be done to improve English-speaking schoolchildren’s knowledge of their own language before we can expect them to get to grips with others.

And don’t anyone try telling me the British can get by without having at least the rudiments of other languages. Europe is a multilingual continent, perhaps more so than any other. There's only so many times we can go on about English being among the most-spoken languages worldwide or the sea separating us from mainland Europe before it becomes formulaic. These may be convenient excuses, but that doesn't make them reasons.

The internet, for all its faults, serves as a pretty good indicator of linguistic standards across the world. It pains me to say that this grammatical malaise is not restricted to English alone, so perhaps other countries would also profit from re-examining how they teach their own languages ...

The first anniversary

Faux-pretentious, moi? is a year old. What a fine medium for my rants it's turned out to be.

Ahem.

Actually, it appears i should have posted this on the 13th, but I'd got it into my head I'd started this on 15th April. Oops ...

In celebration, dear reader, I have but one requirement of you: leave me a comment saying where you're from and how you came upon this blog of mine. And if anyone dares use the word "blogoversary", I shall glare.

Thank you for reading, and all the more so for sharing your thoughts.

An old favourite raises its ugly head

OK Cupid's a funny old place. In the last few weeks I've made a couple of potentially good acquaintances there and to counter that came across a test claiming to assess how English I was - except the writer kept on referring to Britain.

I'll let the exchange of messages do the talking:

Me: I feel I should point out you're using British and English [in your test] to mean the same thing. Some people might find that offensive ...

Him: Am I to take it that by mailing me, you are voicing the fact that you personally are offended by me not explicitly differentiating between British and English?
If so you have my apologies......but unfortunately I am far too lazy to actually do anything about it.
However in order to atone for my slight against the diversity of nationality and culture the U.K encompasses, I shall go without a cigarette for a whole hour.

Me: To be honest, I'm more offended by your apathy. I realise I'm probably coming across as pretty humourless in this, but after all, if we Brits can't get it right, what hope does anyone else have?

UPDATE (23:29, 26/04/2006) Not entirely to my surprise, there's been no response as yet, nor do I expect one at this stage. For all that, I rather doubt he will have learned anything, but at least I've tried.

Roll up, roll up!

Public booking opened for the Edinburgh Festival yesterday. Put politely, it was inordinately busy.

Apparently one man showed up at 6:30am. Clearly a bit keen, as we weren't opening for another three-and-a-half hours ... By the time I got in, shortly before 9:30, the café across the corridor was packed with about 200 people ready to get their Festival tickets. After a bit of last-minute anxiety (one of the ticket printers was causing trouble), the shutters went up at 10 and we were on the road.

For the most part, the punters were perfectly civil. A bit chatty, some of them - there were times I'd've loved to have said "are you here for tickets or a chat?", they went on so much - but no-one truly offensive. One customer who was being served at the booth next to mine did reek to high heaven, true, but the worst I got was an elderly gentleman whose opinion of what constituted a really good seat for Vaughan Williams' Serenade to music differed considerably from mine. I offered him a seat in the middle of the grand circle, admittedly in the back row, and he wasn't best pleased; even so, this paled compared to the offence he took when I suggested a seat in the stalls.

He positively wimpered. "Oh no ... I was so looking forward to the Vaughan Williams." I wondered then if he was so upset that he'd forgo the performance altogether, but thankfully he accepted a seat further along in the grand circle. Strange man.

The Berlin Phil sold out within an hour, maybe two, and seats for the two performances of The magic flute are in short supply. The others couldn't match that degree of popularity, but it was still impressive stuff.

We usually finish work at 5:15pm, but the queues were only just letting up by that stage so we all decided to stay longer, eventually bringing the shutters back down at 6:30. After tidying up, closing the tills (general administration, in other words), it was time for a well-deserved drink and a rest: the box office is closed today so we get a brief respite before the second - quieter - onslaught on Monday.

(For what it's worth, I only served one person who recognised from my previous place of emploment, though one of the stewards told afterwards that many others had wanted to say hello to me. Bless 'em.)

Little joys

My mother is coming to visit during this year's Festival. The idea had struck me when we were shown the programme ahead of the launch date: among the indisputable highlights of this year's programme is the first British production of Balanchine's Don Quixote, choreographed by Suzanne Farrell, for whom it was written. I knew immediately Mother would appreciate it, and with one of the dates coinciding with her first wedding anniversary without my father, my mind was made up: it's one of those occasions when she shouldn't be left on her own.

We also plan to see the Opéra National de Lyon's production of Mazeppa and the RSC's Troilus and Cressida (both directed by Peter Stein), Osmo Vänskä conducting Petrushka and Mackerras joining the SCO for Beethoven's seventh, not to mention Suzanne Farrell talking about the Balanchine. Mother will probably also be going to see Christian Zacharias giving a piano recital - all this in the space of four days!

(For my part, I'm only going to see two other concerts outside those four days - a recital of 20th century flute music and the Trout quintet. You may wonder why I'm not bothering with the Berlin Philharmoniker under Rattle or Abbado conducting The magic flute, but the truth is, the performers are secondary to the programme. Zauberflöte is so difficult to get right that I'm perfectly willing to miss it rather than be left disappointed.)

That's fantastic news for the summer. In the meantime, my contract at work has been extended to take me up to the end of the Festival (early September), about which I'm delighted. I had been a little worried that I'd be gone after the six weeks were up - never mind whether they wanted me to stay, it was going to depend on the workload first and foremost - and in the end, it was down to one of the other new recruits handing in his notice (to go to a better-paid job), but I'm not complaining. If it helps me make a career in arts administration, it's all good.

Final surprise tonight was that my O vos omnes, which we performed at last year's Good Friday service, is getting another airing, again on Good Friday. I mentioned The prodigal son to our director of music on Sunday and he's expressed an interest, so in the meantime, another performance of Oi, you lot! - as I affectionately call it - will go down quite nicely.

The prodigal son: the libretto

no. 1 - Chorus
Choir: In this life we cannot do great things: we can only do small things with great love. [Mother Theresa of Calcutta]
Love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. [1 Corinthians, 13:7]

Recitative
Evangelist (counter-tenor): A certain man had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father,
The younger son (high baritone): Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me.
Evangelist: And he divided unto them his living. And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And when he came to himself, he said,
The younger son: How many hired servants of my father’s have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him,

no. 2 - Aria
The younger son: Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee. And am no more worthy to be called thy son.
Choir: O my God, I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. [Gibbons, Act of contrition, 1884]

Recitative
Evangelist: And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.
The father (bass): Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry.

no. 3 - Chorus
Choir: Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest! [Ordinary of the Mass]

Recitative
Evangelist: Now his elder son was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing. And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and intreated him.
The father: Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad:

no. 4 - Aria
The father: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.

no. 5 - Chorus
Choir: Father of all, we give you thanks and praise, that when we were still far off you met us in your Son and brought us home. Keep us firm in the hope you have set before us, so we and all your children shall be free, and the whole earth live to praise your name; through Christ our Lord. Amen. [Post-communion prayer, Book of Common Prayer]

Notes:
1. Except where indicated, the text is taken from Luke 15:11-32 (slightly abridged).
2. The divisions between numbers are, as indicated in previous posts, a little arbitrary; a degree of overlap is anticipated.
3. Changes may yet be made at the discretion of the composer ...

The prodigal son: composition begins

I've started work on my cantata. The younger son's aria is taking shape, the choir singing throughout ("O my God, I firmly resolve [...] to amend my life") but remaining firmly in the background while the soloist almost improvises his line around it. So far, he sings just about nothing but the word "Father" over and over again; the mood's all very contrite and humble.

The opening chorus is characterised by unlikely modulations. It starts with a pretty bare treatment of the words "in this life we cannot do great things" before blossoming when "we can only do small things" comes round. Then I'm inserting a quick bit of 1 Corinthians - "love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things" - before returning to Mother Theresa's words, this time set in a much warmer, more positive light. The idea of love as a healing balm is a theme which pervades the work as a whole, so it makes sense to dwell on it at the beginning.

Both of the pieces I've started with are very much reflective, so next up I'll be tackling the final chorus. Then I can work on the various recitatives which bind the whole thing together, before getting going with the thanksgiving chorus. I anticipate this being among the most difficult sections to write, as it has to carry on under the next recitative, which leads straight into the father's aria - the last part I'll write.

If you're wondering why I'm more or less decided as to what order I'll be writing everything in, it's all down to knowing how it all fits together. The recitatives, despite being secondary to the arias and choruses, are instrumental in creating a cohesive whole, so once the main numbers are done it's just a matter of binding it all together as one.

The prospects are good.