Lucius Annaeus Seneca is one of my favourite philosophers. I like the Stoic writers as a whole, and he was one of the greatest. The main competition for the Stoice school was the school of Epicurus. One of Seneca's virtues was that he recognised the greatness of Epicurean thought and quotes from it liberally.
One of Seneca's important creations is a set of 124 letters to Lucilius Junior, which I have been reading while on a visit to an old friend in Israel. At the end of letter 8 Seneca is borrowing from Epicurus, and justifying it by quoting Epicurus in support - the truth belongs to everyone. Then in the next letter he supports Epicurus in his denial of the idea that the wise man is content with himself and needs no friends. Seneca goes on that the Stoic wise man is indeed self-sufficient, but none the less he desires friends. He makes an interesting comparison - a man that has lost a hand learns to do without it, but he'd still prefer to have both hands. In the same way the wise man, being self-sufficient, is able to do without friends, but it is better to have them. In the same letter he says "Great Pleasure is to be found not only in keeping up an old and established friendship but also in beginning and building a new one." And once again he generously quotes Epicurus, who said that he didn't want friends for their support when he was in trouble, but on the contrary, to have someone to support in their troubles. Seneca is talking about real friends, the person one can talk to about anything, or similarly sit with in silence. He distinguishes real friends from the fair weather kind who clamour about successful people. Seneca goes on that friendship is something to be sought out for its own sake, and the self-contented wise man is entitled to persue it.
My visit to Jerusalem has been a great refreshment for me. I've had the opportunity to do new things and to revisit old ones; to enjoy things past once again and to decide to let some things go and move into the future. I've read some new books and revisited some old ones too. All this has been made possible by the generousity of one old friend, and also that of a new one, his wife. I first met Brian at school, rather more than 50 years ago, and we both were members of the same adult chess club. It was there that I realised what an unusual, generously open-minded, person he is.
Chess players are rather apt to be dismissive of people who beat them in a game: "Oh you were just lucky, if I had done this or that you would have been lost". Grandmaster Bent Larsen once said that he had never beaten an opponent who was fully healthy, and very chess player knows what he means. Back in the chess club at Palmers Green I had a game with Brian that I won with an unusual manouvre that the books would say was a bad idea. Maybe it usually is, but not this time. Brian did not resort to the familiar "Oh, I was feeling unwell and had something else on my mind" response. Instead he was eager to go back to the critical position and understand why a move he would not have considered was correct on this occasion. Not at all defensive, he wanted to understand. Typically, Brian has forgotten the incident. I remain impressed, and he hasn't changed.
Being with my old friend (as we are both over 60 I think that's the right term) has been the greatest treasure of my visit. Meeting Maggie and finding her to be of like temperament, and similarly a pleasure to be with, has doubled the benefit. I'd like to think it has been similar for them. I've been made so welcome and felt so at home.
After my heart surgery I resolved to put more time and effort into the things that really matter, the people in my life, and less into other things. Brian and Maggie have helped me recover that resolve, and I shall always be grateful. I have also had the pleasure of taking part in a relaxed and good humoured style of living that I shall try to emulate.
Seneca, and Epicurus, were right. Real friends are a tremendous asset, an extension to life, an enrichment, a treasure to be enjoyed and valued.
Thursday, 31 March 2011
Saturday, 12 March 2011
Dogology
Dogology
Laddie was an exceptionally laid back and very friendly dog. But he did have his favourite people. He was always very pleased to see Tony. I think it may have been connected to Tony's touch, which he seemed to really enjoy, or it may have been the scent on him of his bitch Daisy, or it might have had something to do with the ready supply of biscuits, or perhaps all three, or something else.
It was different with Jill - he'd greet her so warmly, often with his singing tone, and for a year or so as her dog Ozzie grew to maturity he'd try to displace Ozzie's ownership of her. When he became ill for the last time he stopped that, but he still showed Jill loads of affection. I never worked out why, but he was rather possessive of her. Did he pick up my affection for her?
He was similarly pleased to see Sarah and her dogs. He liked the dogs. They were friendly to him and greeted him without jumping all over him. He hated that more and more as he got older and his joints became more painful. But he was fond of Sarah too, and would come when she called him when he was busy ignoring me. I think it was something to do with the way she greeted him, although once again he may have been picking up my affection.
But best of all, his very top favourite, was Helen. He stayed with her when we were away, and really enjoyed it. I'd drive him round, open the car, and he'd spot where he was, walk to the front door, and wait to be let in. He greeted Helen almost as he greeted me. He let her wash his feet, even posing while she did it. One of the few things he protested about when I did it was foot washing in water. But with Helen, it was alright. Helen was the first person to allow him on her sofa. He wasn't allowed at home. Helen let him break the rule on his first visit, and he was settled there when I went to collect him. I took him home, he walked into the living room, looked me in the eye, and got on the sofa, gazing at me and wagging furiously. What could we do? Bonnie made a sofa cover for him. I'm glad we did that as it gave him somewhere soft to rest when his joints hurt but also in the heart of his family. He never liked being left if we had to go out, but when I took him to Helen he'd greet her, get on the sofa, and not even look up when I went home without him. He adored her. Something must have been going on after I left! Thanks to Helen he never had to go into a kennel and was never distressed by our holiday breaks.
When Laddie came to us he was a bit anxious. He was disturbed in the car on the long journey back from Manchester. But he settled in quite fast, appointing himself Sentry on the first day, a job he took very seriously for the rest of his life. He always gave the window cleaners a tough time. Once we came back from a walk to find that they had let themselves in the back gate and were cleaning at the rear of the house. He'd not had a very active walk, and was plainly feeling stiff, but he saw them as I reversed in and started barking. I opened the back and he leaped out and charged, chasing them both up their ladders and showing his teeth, growling fiercely. Good boy! Whoever Laddie's successor is will need to learn that role, but it's going to be a hard act to follow.
Laddie's initial anxiety soon passed as he found he was loved, rewarded, fed, walked, and generally made welcome. He showed his love for us in return in many ways, and was always at the door when one of us came home. Well, almost. He was once asleep on the sofa when I opened the door, and I heard the crash as he came running. He'd gaze into our eyes, wagging like mad, sometimes singing too. If we were all sitting together he'd suddenly look up, fix one of us with a meaningful stare, and wag firmly, beating the carpet or sofa in emphasis. I took to working downstairs with him, and if I got distressed at the computer he'd detect it, and come to me from where ever he was, sit by me, and look up, staring into my eyes as if to reassure me that everything was okay while he was here to defend me. He was so loyal.
We adored him with his laid back, affectionate, gentle manner, and he plainly showed his adoration for both of us. And now he's gone. The thing I miss most is the sound of his tail on the floor when he detected that I was out of bed in the morning. Another day was beginning, we'd do things together, and whatever they were he was ready to go for it. Even in his last days he was eager to go out and meet his friends, canine and human. We will always miss him.
Laddie was an exceptionally laid back and very friendly dog. But he did have his favourite people. He was always very pleased to see Tony. I think it may have been connected to Tony's touch, which he seemed to really enjoy, or it may have been the scent on him of his bitch Daisy, or it might have had something to do with the ready supply of biscuits, or perhaps all three, or something else.
It was different with Jill - he'd greet her so warmly, often with his singing tone, and for a year or so as her dog Ozzie grew to maturity he'd try to displace Ozzie's ownership of her. When he became ill for the last time he stopped that, but he still showed Jill loads of affection. I never worked out why, but he was rather possessive of her. Did he pick up my affection for her?
He was similarly pleased to see Sarah and her dogs. He liked the dogs. They were friendly to him and greeted him without jumping all over him. He hated that more and more as he got older and his joints became more painful. But he was fond of Sarah too, and would come when she called him when he was busy ignoring me. I think it was something to do with the way she greeted him, although once again he may have been picking up my affection.
When Laddie came to us he was a bit anxious. He was disturbed in the car on the long journey back from Manchester. But he settled in quite fast, appointing himself Sentry on the first day, a job he took very seriously for the rest of his life. He always gave the window cleaners a tough time. Once we came back from a walk to find that they had let themselves in the back gate and were cleaning at the rear of the house. He'd not had a very active walk, and was plainly feeling stiff, but he saw them as I reversed in and started barking. I opened the back and he leaped out and charged, chasing them both up their ladders and showing his teeth, growling fiercely. Good boy! Whoever Laddie's successor is will need to learn that role, but it's going to be a hard act to follow.
Laddie's initial anxiety soon passed as he found he was loved, rewarded, fed, walked, and generally made welcome. He showed his love for us in return in many ways, and was always at the door when one of us came home. Well, almost. He was once asleep on the sofa when I opened the door, and I heard the crash as he came running. He'd gaze into our eyes, wagging like mad, sometimes singing too. If we were all sitting together he'd suddenly look up, fix one of us with a meaningful stare, and wag firmly, beating the carpet or sofa in emphasis. I took to working downstairs with him, and if I got distressed at the computer he'd detect it, and come to me from where ever he was, sit by me, and look up, staring into my eyes as if to reassure me that everything was okay while he was here to defend me. He was so loyal.
We adored him with his laid back, affectionate, gentle manner, and he plainly showed his adoration for both of us. And now he's gone. The thing I miss most is the sound of his tail on the floor when he detected that I was out of bed in the morning. Another day was beginning, we'd do things together, and whatever they were he was ready to go for it. Even in his last days he was eager to go out and meet his friends, canine and human. We will always miss him.
Friday, 11 March 2011
Sir Patrick
According to The Week, the nation's favourite stereotype of a scientist, dear old Patrick Moore, is in a bad way. His health is failing and he sees himself as being near the end of life. I'm sad about that. I treasure a photograph of him standing next to me chatting in a friendly way, taken at an Astronomy event we both attended 7 or 8 years ago. He is, of course, an unbeliever as far as religion is concerned, so I was surprised to read that he expects death to lead to another life. And not merely that, but a life which can influence events in this one. According to the report I read he has left instructions for a gathering after his death at which he will blow out a candle!
Somehow I am almost more sad about this than his approaching demise. But it is not atypical. When my dog, dear old Laddie, died, dog-walking friends tried to comfort me by saying that he was probably playing in an otherworldly field with their deceased dog. People I meet who have zero religious beliefs expect to be reunited with deceased spouses and parents. Of course I never challenge beliefs like that. I might, in a formal debate for example, but people are entitled to what comforts they can find in the face of death. The idea of non-existence is terrifying to some, and incomprehensible to many. I am lucky in that not existing after this life frightens me no more than not existing before I was born does. That luck does not give me the right to trample on the compensations for death and loss that others entertain.
But here, no-one has to read on who doesn't want to, and no-one who doesn't want to read what I really think need read another word. Please take that as fair warning about what is to come.
Sir Patrick is a highly educated man, and I doubt he is unaware of all the work in neuroscience and related disciplines that demonstrates how totally dependent we are on our brain chemistry and physiology. A minute change in the chemical reactions in our brain can render us so different a person that we would not recognise ourselves. An injury to the brain can cause dramatic changes in both personality and physical capacity. There is experimental evidence that seems to show that the actions we think we undertake as the result of a decision are in fact initiated deep in the brain long before we become consciously involved.
None of this proves anything, and it certainly does not prove that there is no life after death. But it does lend credence to the idea that who we are is dependent on our brains, both physically and chemically, and that therefore we ourselves are so dependent, and that when our brains stop, we stop. Sir Patrick must be aware of that, even though it is not his specialised area of scientific work. But the existence of this line of empirical work does nothing to change his belief and his expectation of an afterlife. In that he has a lot in common with most people. I think it is sad that someone of his knowledge and critical judgement doesn't give it more weight. But the fact is that our emotions are more important than our rationality in determining what we believe.
There is nothing in either neuroscience or medicine that gives any reason to think anything other than that we are totally dependent on these frail human bodies for our existence, and in particular dependent on our brains. Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, but it does look very suspicious. It seems to me to be like the general anaesthetic I had when I underwent heart surgery. The drugs they gave me stopped certain parts of my brain from working and I was completely unaware even of being unconscious. Everything that was me stopped until the effect of the drugs was reversed and I regained consciousness, with no idea how much time had passed and so on. Effectively the real me ceased to exist although my body lived on. The wonder of modern anaesthesia is that it is reversible, and once the brain chemistry began to flow again, my self returned. When I die all that brain chemistry will stop and the physical circuitry will become unusable very quickly. I fail to see how I can in any sense exist when this has happened.
If Sir Patrick can show me any reason at all to think that this line of thought might be wrong, I will be delighted to examine it, test it, and take it seriously. Sadly the prospect is remote since no such reason has ever been shown to exist. I prefer to go to my death aware of the realities and with no expectation of their being overturned. If that's wrong I hope the surprise will be pleasant, but I am reasonably confident that any such non-physical existence in another world will be totally unable to blow out any existent physical candles in this one. All that influences matter is material in origin, including the four great forces of nature, the weakest of which is gravity.
Somehow I am almost more sad about this than his approaching demise. But it is not atypical. When my dog, dear old Laddie, died, dog-walking friends tried to comfort me by saying that he was probably playing in an otherworldly field with their deceased dog. People I meet who have zero religious beliefs expect to be reunited with deceased spouses and parents. Of course I never challenge beliefs like that. I might, in a formal debate for example, but people are entitled to what comforts they can find in the face of death. The idea of non-existence is terrifying to some, and incomprehensible to many. I am lucky in that not existing after this life frightens me no more than not existing before I was born does. That luck does not give me the right to trample on the compensations for death and loss that others entertain.
But here, no-one has to read on who doesn't want to, and no-one who doesn't want to read what I really think need read another word. Please take that as fair warning about what is to come.
Sir Patrick is a highly educated man, and I doubt he is unaware of all the work in neuroscience and related disciplines that demonstrates how totally dependent we are on our brain chemistry and physiology. A minute change in the chemical reactions in our brain can render us so different a person that we would not recognise ourselves. An injury to the brain can cause dramatic changes in both personality and physical capacity. There is experimental evidence that seems to show that the actions we think we undertake as the result of a decision are in fact initiated deep in the brain long before we become consciously involved.
None of this proves anything, and it certainly does not prove that there is no life after death. But it does lend credence to the idea that who we are is dependent on our brains, both physically and chemically, and that therefore we ourselves are so dependent, and that when our brains stop, we stop. Sir Patrick must be aware of that, even though it is not his specialised area of scientific work. But the existence of this line of empirical work does nothing to change his belief and his expectation of an afterlife. In that he has a lot in common with most people. I think it is sad that someone of his knowledge and critical judgement doesn't give it more weight. But the fact is that our emotions are more important than our rationality in determining what we believe.
There is nothing in either neuroscience or medicine that gives any reason to think anything other than that we are totally dependent on these frail human bodies for our existence, and in particular dependent on our brains. Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, but it does look very suspicious. It seems to me to be like the general anaesthetic I had when I underwent heart surgery. The drugs they gave me stopped certain parts of my brain from working and I was completely unaware even of being unconscious. Everything that was me stopped until the effect of the drugs was reversed and I regained consciousness, with no idea how much time had passed and so on. Effectively the real me ceased to exist although my body lived on. The wonder of modern anaesthesia is that it is reversible, and once the brain chemistry began to flow again, my self returned. When I die all that brain chemistry will stop and the physical circuitry will become unusable very quickly. I fail to see how I can in any sense exist when this has happened.
If Sir Patrick can show me any reason at all to think that this line of thought might be wrong, I will be delighted to examine it, test it, and take it seriously. Sadly the prospect is remote since no such reason has ever been shown to exist. I prefer to go to my death aware of the realities and with no expectation of their being overturned. If that's wrong I hope the surprise will be pleasant, but I am reasonably confident that any such non-physical existence in another world will be totally unable to blow out any existent physical candles in this one. All that influences matter is material in origin, including the four great forces of nature, the weakest of which is gravity.
Sunday, 6 March 2011
Our old friend Laddie is gone.
My dear old friend Laddie died. I have a big aching hole where he used to be. He was getting on when he came to us, and we were told we'd probably have him for a year or two. Happily it was a lot longer than that. He was big for a Collie, but as gentle as any dog I have ever known. Totally laid back, he was always so pleased to see his friends, both canine and human. And the greetings we used to get were second to none. Laddie knew how to make his feelings known.
As long as we've known him he's had two problems; his digestive system and his joints. When he first came to live with us stomach upsets were frequent events. As we got to know his dietary needs better these decreased. He did have a couple of major problems even so. The first was a very bad attack of colitis which laid him so low we thought we'd lost him. But he survived, although he never regained his former energy after it. Later another stomach problem defeated all the vet's diagnostic tools, but once again he came through, having frightened us to death first.
But his joint problems got gradually worse, and from being an active dog who loved his walk in the country he became a dog who liked to go out and sit in the sun and meet his mates. Arthritic joints and collapsed ligaments in his feet made walking a trial for him, despite all the anti-inflammatory drugs and pain killers we could pump into him. None the less he retained his good nature, his love of socialising, and his desire to play (even if mostly from lying on the sofa) right to the end. And even on a day when his joints were playing him up, he never lost the desire to show off to a bitch in season. His amazing nose could detect female hormones from a few hundred yards, and he'd set off at speed. Lately he could not keep the chase up long, and I knew the end was getting near when I spotted one of his lady friends that I knew to be in season, some distance off. Laddie's nose went into overdrive, but he didn't even haul himself to his feet. He knew it was hopeless.
Last week another stomach issue laid him very low, and he had to see the vet late on Sunday night. But he recovered and was pretty perky by Wednesday or Thursday this week. However yesterday he was clearly having trouble getting about, and this morning he could not haul himself to his feet. I managed to get him into the car and to his favourite walking spot, but the best he could do was crawl a few yards on his stomach using his front legs. A friend helped me get him back into the car, and shortly after a large group of his friends came by. He was as usual pleased to see them, but he could not get up. He received sniffing from the dogs and stroking from the people and seemed happy enough to lay there for that. Then we took him straight to the vet. His life ended with his family round him, assured of our love and appreciation.
But his joint problems got gradually worse, and from being an active dog who loved his walk in the country he became a dog who liked to go out and sit in the sun and meet his mates. Arthritic joints and collapsed ligaments in his feet made walking a trial for him, despite all the anti-inflammatory drugs and pain killers we could pump into him. None the less he retained his good nature, his love of socialising, and his desire to play (even if mostly from lying on the sofa) right to the end. And even on a day when his joints were playing him up, he never lost the desire to show off to a bitch in season. His amazing nose could detect female hormones from a few hundred yards, and he'd set off at speed. Lately he could not keep the chase up long, and I knew the end was getting near when I spotted one of his lady friends that I knew to be in season, some distance off. Laddie's nose went into overdrive, but he didn't even haul himself to his feet. He knew it was hopeless.
Last week another stomach issue laid him very low, and he had to see the vet late on Sunday night. But he recovered and was pretty perky by Wednesday or Thursday this week. However yesterday he was clearly having trouble getting about, and this morning he could not haul himself to his feet. I managed to get him into the car and to his favourite walking spot, but the best he could do was crawl a few yards on his stomach using his front legs. A friend helped me get him back into the car, and shortly after a large group of his friends came by. He was as usual pleased to see them, but he could not get up. He received sniffing from the dogs and stroking from the people and seemed happy enough to lay there for that. Then we took him straight to the vet. His life ended with his family round him, assured of our love and appreciation.
Friday, 4 March 2011
The Great Census Religion Con
Probably most people are aware there has been some debate about the census question on religion in the upcoming census. At the last census, in 2001, the same question was asked as this time: ‘What is your religion?’ It was placed directly after the Ethnicity question, and responders seem to have read it as another question about their background.
I say this because the most recent British Social Attitudes Survey split the question into two parts:
1.‘Do you regard yourself as belonging to any particular religion?’ and
2.‘What religious tradition, if any, were you brought up in?’
Answers to the second question closely match the 2001 Census return: only 18.5% said ‘No religion.’ But answers to the first question gave 50.7% of responders saying ‘No religion’ – almost three times as many. This is a strong reason to believe that people understood the census question to be about their religious background rather than about their religious practice. However, the answers are interpreted by decision makers in terms of religious practice for things as diverse as Radio 4's 'Thought for the Day' and funding for Faith Schools. They argue that less than 20% of the population are not religious, and therefore they should provide for the remaining 80%. In truth, as the answers to the first Social Attitudes survey show, the reality is somewhere close to 50:50.
The British Humanist Association tried to get the question for this census revised to be closer to the more carefully phrased one on the Social Attitudes survey. But resistance of the census authorities to any change was resolute. An item in Radio 4’s 'Sunday' on 27th February threw a clear light on the cynicism which lies behind this. The Deputy Director of the Census explained that the reason for keeping things as they are is that the users of this particular item in the 2001 census data want the question left as it was. Of course they do. The reason they are ‘users’ is that it gives them the answers they want. If it were changed now it would mean that their policies over the last decade had been unfounded. Who goes looking for egg on their face?
Speaking on the same programme for the Church of England, Linda Barley said that the question ‘is not about believing’. That made me sit up with a jolt! How is that so? Let's hear it again: ‘Religious affiliation is not about believing.’ Up to now I thought that the religions claimed that membership was entirely about belief and demanded respect, and even exemption from some laws (such as those discrimination against gays or women) on the basis of that deeply held (but unjustified) conviction. I am amazed that someone speaking for the church was prepared to admit on air that people who claim to be religious may not in fact believe a word of it. What they want is, for example, to manipulate access to a certain school, an opt-out for their prejudices, or some similar benefit. I am as glad as anyone to see the church admitting to the cynicism of those on their roll of members. Now I wait for other religious leaders to follow suit.
But back to the point. If you, being non-religious, want public policy over the next decade in matters affected by religious attitudes to be based on the facts, rather than on a carefully and cynically nurtured fiction, make sure that you tick the ‘No religion’ option on the census form.
There is a very nice short presentation on this topic prepared by the Milton Keynes Humanists. Click here to access it.
Thanks to Charles Baily for his help preparing this item.
I say this because the most recent British Social Attitudes Survey split the question into two parts:
1.‘Do you regard yourself as belonging to any particular religion?’ and
2.‘What religious tradition, if any, were you brought up in?’
Answers to the second question closely match the 2001 Census return: only 18.5% said ‘No religion.’ But answers to the first question gave 50.7% of responders saying ‘No religion’ – almost three times as many. This is a strong reason to believe that people understood the census question to be about their religious background rather than about their religious practice. However, the answers are interpreted by decision makers in terms of religious practice for things as diverse as Radio 4's 'Thought for the Day' and funding for Faith Schools. They argue that less than 20% of the population are not religious, and therefore they should provide for the remaining 80%. In truth, as the answers to the first Social Attitudes survey show, the reality is somewhere close to 50:50.
The British Humanist Association tried to get the question for this census revised to be closer to the more carefully phrased one on the Social Attitudes survey. But resistance of the census authorities to any change was resolute. An item in Radio 4’s 'Sunday' on 27th February threw a clear light on the cynicism which lies behind this. The Deputy Director of the Census explained that the reason for keeping things as they are is that the users of this particular item in the 2001 census data want the question left as it was. Of course they do. The reason they are ‘users’ is that it gives them the answers they want. If it were changed now it would mean that their policies over the last decade had been unfounded. Who goes looking for egg on their face?
Speaking on the same programme for the Church of England, Linda Barley said that the question ‘is not about believing’. That made me sit up with a jolt! How is that so? Let's hear it again: ‘Religious affiliation is not about believing.’ Up to now I thought that the religions claimed that membership was entirely about belief and demanded respect, and even exemption from some laws (such as those discrimination against gays or women) on the basis of that deeply held (but unjustified) conviction. I am amazed that someone speaking for the church was prepared to admit on air that people who claim to be religious may not in fact believe a word of it. What they want is, for example, to manipulate access to a certain school, an opt-out for their prejudices, or some similar benefit. I am as glad as anyone to see the church admitting to the cynicism of those on their roll of members. Now I wait for other religious leaders to follow suit.
But back to the point. If you, being non-religious, want public policy over the next decade in matters affected by religious attitudes to be based on the facts, rather than on a carefully and cynically nurtured fiction, make sure that you tick the ‘No religion’ option on the census form.
There is a very nice short presentation on this topic prepared by the Milton Keynes Humanists. Click here to access it.
Thanks to Charles Baily for his help preparing this item.
Musical Talent
I'm sitting in a coffee shop mulling over some ideas for a blog post. As usual there is background music. It so happens that it's not to my taste, but that's normal. Sometimes I'm lucky and get good music to go with good coffee, more often not, but I am not the arbiter of taste for the world, or even for Wellingborough. No doubt more people will enjoy the music that is playing than would enjoy something I chose.
My issue is with what degree of talent it takes to be successful and make money from music. For many people this isn't important. Music is about satisfaction and enjoyment, and I am sure that is true for the performer I just heard. But he is also making money, a recording company has paid him in anticipation of making a substantial profit. So what does it take?
The other evening I was at an organ recital by one of the world's leading organists. His talent is undeniable, as is the amount of hard work he has put in to reach his present eminence. At the other end of the scale, a few years ago I was at a concert at a quite prestigious venue given by a local amateur orchestra. I paid a decent amount for a ticket, and they played with enthusiasm and enjoyment, but less skill. The violin section, for example did not so much attack a note as gang up on it and smother it with sheer weight of numbers. One cannot expect the same degree of skill from amateur performers as professionals, and one of the differences may be the accuracy with which violinists can tune their instrument and then hit a given tone exactly. But this failing spoiled the concert. Over and again a phrase began with a smudge rather than a note or chord, and severely detracted from the music. And the ticket price was not significantly less than for a top notch professional performance. I've not been to hear that orchestra again. Money is short, and I prefer to spend it on things I really enjoy.
I did not pay for the music in this coffee shop other than indirectly through the price of the coffee and food, which is in my view good value anyway. But in principle, the same question arises. I was sitting here, relaxed, soaking up the sunlight streaming through the window, barely aware of the music. Then it happened. The singer went for a high note that needed to be held. It was obvious from the chord the group was playing and the general direction of the melody what the note was supposed to be. He missed it, and not by a small amount. He then tried to hold the note he had missed, but his voice was not capable of it, and he wavered around in the general area of the note he had missed, without ever actually finding it. It was excruciating. And suddenly music I was happy to pay no attention to had been forced, painfully forced, onto my attention.
The singer lacked talent. He could neither hit nor maintain a note, which factors are the essence of singing. And it was recorded! The technology exists to correct such errors. Either no-one noticed or cared, or perhaps if it was pointed out the singer was offended. The singing produced was his style, and if you didn't like it, tough. Who knows? But why should lack of talent be rewarded with a recording contract? The question of musical taste is irrelevant. If it had been a harpsichordist who could not accurately render the works of Handel, a fidler playing Gypsy dances who could not keep in tune, or anything else, the issue is the same. Music is about melody and harmony. Styles and tastes vary over time and between people, but music remains the same in essence. Talent should be recognised and rewarded. Lack of it should not.
My issue is with what degree of talent it takes to be successful and make money from music. For many people this isn't important. Music is about satisfaction and enjoyment, and I am sure that is true for the performer I just heard. But he is also making money, a recording company has paid him in anticipation of making a substantial profit. So what does it take?
The other evening I was at an organ recital by one of the world's leading organists. His talent is undeniable, as is the amount of hard work he has put in to reach his present eminence. At the other end of the scale, a few years ago I was at a concert at a quite prestigious venue given by a local amateur orchestra. I paid a decent amount for a ticket, and they played with enthusiasm and enjoyment, but less skill. The violin section, for example did not so much attack a note as gang up on it and smother it with sheer weight of numbers. One cannot expect the same degree of skill from amateur performers as professionals, and one of the differences may be the accuracy with which violinists can tune their instrument and then hit a given tone exactly. But this failing spoiled the concert. Over and again a phrase began with a smudge rather than a note or chord, and severely detracted from the music. And the ticket price was not significantly less than for a top notch professional performance. I've not been to hear that orchestra again. Money is short, and I prefer to spend it on things I really enjoy.
I did not pay for the music in this coffee shop other than indirectly through the price of the coffee and food, which is in my view good value anyway. But in principle, the same question arises. I was sitting here, relaxed, soaking up the sunlight streaming through the window, barely aware of the music. Then it happened. The singer went for a high note that needed to be held. It was obvious from the chord the group was playing and the general direction of the melody what the note was supposed to be. He missed it, and not by a small amount. He then tried to hold the note he had missed, but his voice was not capable of it, and he wavered around in the general area of the note he had missed, without ever actually finding it. It was excruciating. And suddenly music I was happy to pay no attention to had been forced, painfully forced, onto my attention.
The singer lacked talent. He could neither hit nor maintain a note, which factors are the essence of singing. And it was recorded! The technology exists to correct such errors. Either no-one noticed or cared, or perhaps if it was pointed out the singer was offended. The singing produced was his style, and if you didn't like it, tough. Who knows? But why should lack of talent be rewarded with a recording contract? The question of musical taste is irrelevant. If it had been a harpsichordist who could not accurately render the works of Handel, a fidler playing Gypsy dances who could not keep in tune, or anything else, the issue is the same. Music is about melody and harmony. Styles and tastes vary over time and between people, but music remains the same in essence. Talent should be recognised and rewarded. Lack of it should not.
Thursday, 3 March 2011
Toccata!
Life conspires with itself to bring a mixture of rough and smooth. Last night I had a ticket for an organ recital at Symphony Hall, Birmingham, which is my favourite concert venue in the UK. The Albert Hall is something special and different, but it has its drawbacks too. Symphony Hall manages to combine elegant appearance, compact size, excellence of location, perfect accoustics and a marvellous organ. I love to go to Symphony Hall. The only issue is the M6. Well, I know Birmingham pretty well, having worked there for several years, and consequentially I also know the the M6. It can be nasty, but the journey door to door ought to take less than an hour and a half. So I allowed two hours to be on the safe side. It was not enough - there was an accident (on the other carriageway) in road works and that added 50 minutes to the journey. Then on arriving at the NIA to park there was an event there. Finding parking was hard enough, and the task was complicated by hoards of teenagers milling about. So I was grouchy and late, the one being a direct consequence of the other. We missed the first two items on the programme. But we were finally ushered into wonderful gallery seats, my favourite seats in Symphony Hall, comfortable, roomy, with a great view of the performer.
The performer: I probably have not heard all the excellent organists in the UK, but I have heard a high proportion of them. Birmingham is blessed by having Thomas Trotter as the City Organist giving weekly recitals. Liverpool rejoices in Ian Tracey. Manchester enjoys Wayne Marshall. But for me the organist par excellence is John Scott, formerly organist at St Paul's Cathedral he is now at St Thomas' Fifth Avenue, New York City. He is not a showman like Carlo Curly, but listen to him play!
I had settled comfortably into my seat when John Scott began to play the last piece before the interval, the Toccata and Fugue in F Major by the incomparable J S Bach. It was simply magnificent. Bach himself would certainly have approved. Indeed, great organist though he was, Bach never had access to such an organ, with electro-pneumatic action and programmable stop combinations, and could hardly have created such sounds himself. I've long enjoyed this work, and here it was played as well as I can imagine it being played.
After the interval came a new work to me. Robert Schumann's Romantic style is a long way from Bach's Baroque. Bach's music had fallen out of favour soon after his death, and it was restored to its rightful place in the repertoire by the efforts of Schumann and others around the 1840s. Schumann wrote a series of 6 fugues taking the letters of Bach's name as his starting point (B flat, A, C B natural in our notation corresponds to B, A, C, H in the German equivalent). This interesting fugue combined the essence of Bach with the flavour of Schumann, and I look forward to hearing it again.
Then came the climax of the concert. Everyone knows the brilliant organ piece played at the end of Charles and Diana's wedding. It must be the most popular ending to church weddings, and is thus either rendered or slaughtered by church organists depending on their ability many times over every year. It is in fact the 5th movement of Charles-Marie Widor's 5th Organ Symphony. Sadly while the final Toccata is commonly heard the remainder of the Symphony is infrequently played, and I had gone to this recital specially to hear it.
It is a spellbinding work created by a master musician and outstanding organist. The first movement is an exciting Allegro, then comes a lyrical second movement. The third movement begins gently, then ups tempo with most of the melody in the pedals. The fourth movement is a wonderful, almost heartbreaking Adagio and then comes the brilliant virtuoso finish in the final Toccata which had me on the edge of my seat. It was nothing short of superb. Having heard John Scott play it in Birmingham there is only one thing left to do: go to Paris and hear it again on the organ of the church of Saint-Sulpice where Widor himself was organist for over 60 years.
The applause was deafening, and John Scott came to the microphone to thank the audience, and to say that, having heard the second most famous Toccata, should anyone feel short-changed by not having also heard the first most famous, he'd play that now. So we were treated to more Bach, the wonderful Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, for which John Scott brought the utmost out of the fabulous Symphony Hall organ. Bach would have loved it. The sound of that great organ filled every cell of my body as the fugue reached its climax, and every shred of frustration on the way up the M6 had been compensated for many times over by the exhilaration generated by this combination of fine instrument, superb organist and glorious composition.
But next time I'll be in Birmingham in time for afternoon tea.
The performer: I probably have not heard all the excellent organists in the UK, but I have heard a high proportion of them. Birmingham is blessed by having Thomas Trotter as the City Organist giving weekly recitals. Liverpool rejoices in Ian Tracey. Manchester enjoys Wayne Marshall. But for me the organist par excellence is John Scott, formerly organist at St Paul's Cathedral he is now at St Thomas' Fifth Avenue, New York City. He is not a showman like Carlo Curly, but listen to him play!
I had settled comfortably into my seat when John Scott began to play the last piece before the interval, the Toccata and Fugue in F Major by the incomparable J S Bach. It was simply magnificent. Bach himself would certainly have approved. Indeed, great organist though he was, Bach never had access to such an organ, with electro-pneumatic action and programmable stop combinations, and could hardly have created such sounds himself. I've long enjoyed this work, and here it was played as well as I can imagine it being played.
After the interval came a new work to me. Robert Schumann's Romantic style is a long way from Bach's Baroque. Bach's music had fallen out of favour soon after his death, and it was restored to its rightful place in the repertoire by the efforts of Schumann and others around the 1840s. Schumann wrote a series of 6 fugues taking the letters of Bach's name as his starting point (B flat, A, C B natural in our notation corresponds to B, A, C, H in the German equivalent). This interesting fugue combined the essence of Bach with the flavour of Schumann, and I look forward to hearing it again.
Then came the climax of the concert. Everyone knows the brilliant organ piece played at the end of Charles and Diana's wedding. It must be the most popular ending to church weddings, and is thus either rendered or slaughtered by church organists depending on their ability many times over every year. It is in fact the 5th movement of Charles-Marie Widor's 5th Organ Symphony. Sadly while the final Toccata is commonly heard the remainder of the Symphony is infrequently played, and I had gone to this recital specially to hear it.
It is a spellbinding work created by a master musician and outstanding organist. The first movement is an exciting Allegro, then comes a lyrical second movement. The third movement begins gently, then ups tempo with most of the melody in the pedals. The fourth movement is a wonderful, almost heartbreaking Adagio and then comes the brilliant virtuoso finish in the final Toccata which had me on the edge of my seat. It was nothing short of superb. Having heard John Scott play it in Birmingham there is only one thing left to do: go to Paris and hear it again on the organ of the church of Saint-Sulpice where Widor himself was organist for over 60 years.
The applause was deafening, and John Scott came to the microphone to thank the audience, and to say that, having heard the second most famous Toccata, should anyone feel short-changed by not having also heard the first most famous, he'd play that now. So we were treated to more Bach, the wonderful Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, for which John Scott brought the utmost out of the fabulous Symphony Hall organ. Bach would have loved it. The sound of that great organ filled every cell of my body as the fugue reached its climax, and every shred of frustration on the way up the M6 had been compensated for many times over by the exhilaration generated by this combination of fine instrument, superb organist and glorious composition.
But next time I'll be in Birmingham in time for afternoon tea.
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