A few words on teaching in London. I was assigned two classes to teach and one class to monitor. Since one of my classes was an evening class, I did not have a normal classroom in which to teach. Furthermore with the emphases on experiential learning, it became advantageous to go throughout London supporting and discovering the learning outcomes for the classes. Unlike a typical college class of lecture and tests, these classes were more field-based, hands-on approaches to the learning process. When a teacher has a city like London with unlimited academic resources within reach, it makes sense to take a holistic educational philosophy in methodology and in pedagogy. In a way, it becomes less reliant on teacher personality or teacher driven learning, and, instead, becomes about the student discovering a vibrant academic culture.
With this in mind, I designed two courses that could be taught without the use of paper. The classroom was the world of London and in two cases, the entire United Kingdom, and the assessment and assignments were done electronically. Additional material was available through digital means, resulting in a paper free course. Utilizing the public transport system and lots of walking, we learned through our experiences and we experienced a new brand of learning. Being that a college course is designed as about 45 hours of instruction, there is no mandate on what "instruction" means. Most teachers view that as lecture time with students taking notes to be recalled later in some kind of assessment. This is the traditional model that has room for variation to include presentations, research, projects, discussion, and all the techniques that make education viable and meaningful.
Embracing the reality of experience and broad-based education, I approached the classes with the idea that experiencing learning first-hand has infinitely more value than any kind of abstract discussion. While a discussion on the Baroque master artist Peter Paul Rubens may have some strength, and certainly a teacher's expertise and insights can enhance the learning of Rubens, actually seeing an original Rubens has more strength and educational merit than simply discussing the work. A student can then follow up on the experience by supplementing his/her learning through research and critical application. This makes for the learning to be active and vital rather than abstract. Experience it first, understand it second, synthesize it third.
A stunning lecture full of information, moments of discussion, and critical application in a classroom certainly has merit and is often the best way to create a learning environment. But at some point, a teacher may need to accept and acknowledge that experiencing the same information in an active and outstanding environment may be superior than anything verbal the teacher has to offer. For Music Appreciation, we had a discussion on instruments of the orchestra and how they independently and congruently in performance. My knowledge of the subject matter is strong and I delivered a thorough and precise lecture on the subject. And yet, until we sat in an auditorium listening to the London Symphony in all its musical and artistic glory, it was still abstract knowledge. As we listened to the instruments, they took on a life of their own and the students found themselves in a world of cognitive application of the sound of the instruments creating music in one of the finest orchestras in the world. We experienced the knowledge and poured in deep into our minds and hearts in a lasting way. They may not remember every detail of what I said about string instruments, but they will never forget the sound of London Symphony strings playing Symphony No. 2 by Brahms.
In thinking about education and college work, I realized that I could not recall any lectures from my undergraduate time. As excellent as they were, the content offered by the professors did not make a lasting impression on my education. What I do remember, however, were the experiences from those courses and from the process of learning. We learn better through action and through concrete events. From those events we then learn to apply the experience to a new level of cognition and perhaps even a deep emotional level. This makes the learning process have lasting value rather than falling into an abstract bottomless hole of knowledge with no purpose, with no end.
As I developed the learning outcomes for the classes, I integrated those with vibrant, active experiences in London. Trying to avoid excessive cognition apart from the learning that involves the senses, I designed the entire coursework around the experiences surrounding us. The wealth of first hand experiences is vast and robust, unparalleled anywhere else for teaching and learning, particularly in the arts and literature. As often said, "the world is my stage" but for me I would say, "London is our classroom." While this has pedagogical strength and educational merit, it does not escape some problems however.
The lack of a traditional classroom took some getting used to as students had to take notes while walking and looking rather than sitting at a desk. In addition, the dissemination of papers was cumbersome and made for an unnecessary complexity to the educational process. With this in mind, I set upon a path of making the courses paper free. All assignments and all research was digital and grading was handled through email and dropbox. I used a mental system of CDEF (calendar, dropbox, email, facebook) for communication and for immediate assessment. Ideal for teaching and learning, I still had the problem of how to assess the broad knowledge of the students.
Thinking through this, I realized it was time to put examinations online requiring a login and password. While I monitored the process and created a randomization to the questions, it was still entirely on a computer in the digital world. By the end of the courses, students had a portfolio of essays detailing and supplementing their learning experiences as well as an objective and comprehensive assessment of the learning outcomes. As it came together, and in spite of minor gaps in learning, I realized the students had gained a tremendous amount of knowledge of the subject matter that went beyond cognition and into application. The experiment worked. We remained paper free with vital, life-changing experiences while keeping our learning outcomes in the forefront. Their learning was active, their supplemental work digital, and their growth in the subject matter robust. While much of this system was dependent on having a classroom such as London, there are many things to glean from this type of pedagogical approach to teaching.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
LP LVIII--Home to Texas
The long flight back to Texas was uneventful unless one considers the challenges of cramped conditions, crying babies, and confining commodes eventful. Disembarking in Dallas, I stood in a long queue (oops, sorry, I mean line) for customs, another one to get my one suitcase, another for luggage customs and declaration, another to check luggage in again for the connecting flight, another to check-in for the flight, and finally an extensive queue (there I go again, nobody in Texas is going understand me for awhile!) for security. I then settled in to wait for the next flight to Abilene and began thinking about what I will miss and what I will not.
I will not miss the crowded conditions of London and the feeling of being closed in and constricted by tall buildings, numerous people, cars, motorcycles, buses, and businesses. The Texas sky cannot be beat and the wide-open spaces are much to my liking. Of course, this brings to mind me time in the highlands of Scotland with the rolling hills, trees, streams, and fresh air (time for some Scottish folksongs and reminiscing!) as I sought my Brigadoon and found it in strong family connections. Anyway, I do like the Texas sky and the feeling of space and rugged strength found in our Western world. Yet in spite of the overcrowded conditions of London, I will miss the constant walking, the bus trips, the tube, and the amazing coffee and pastry shops found on every block.
It is with mixed feelings that I return to a friendly environment where strangers smile, nod, and often say hello or have conversations in stores or the workplace, a world where eye contact with everyone is the norm and there is a desire for interpersonal relationship building. Yet, ironically, there is comfort in anonymity without any kind of pressure to meet anyone. There is confidence in solitary expectations, in knowing that anything accomplished is dependent on just you, that you respect the individuality of others and consequently your own individuality is also respected. Over time in London you become less concerned with others and realize that your place in the world is your own and there is no vying for your position in society or culture. That said, I do like the friendliness of my Texas world but am also aware of the personal benefits of a less gregarious culture.
I will miss fish and chips although I must admit I got a little weary of the same flavor of fish and chips at every restaurant. A large piece of cod with fluffy batter and fat French fries. Good stuff but always the same. I am excited to have Mexican food, barbecue, smaller French fries called French fries and potato chips called chips rather than crisps. I will miss the freshness of the London food devoid of preservatives and trans fats, food that is tasty by virtue of its natural properties and food that enters the body and benefits it rather than alters it. But it is nice to buy food in Texas that will not go bad in two days time. Still, I will miss the amazing juice and bread of London, not to mention the wide variety of ethnic food found throughout London.
I will not miss the noise level of the streets with frequent sirens (the loudest, most obnoxious and screeching siren ever heard), honking horns, squeals of brakes and roar of motorcycles. It is pleasant to live in a quiet, country world with the sound of birds, wind blowing through the trees, and the occasional chirp of cicadas. Yet, admittedly the sound of the city is also the sound of progress, of development, of culture, of improvement and growth. While these sounds are annoying, they are also an emotional and physical steroid of a city on the move, depicting the collective spirit of individual achievement and commitment to success. So, yes, I like the quiet country world, but may occasionally miss the sounds of progress.
As I look at the goats, mesquites, oak trees, and grass, I start missing the architecture of London with arches, monuments, gothic detail, sculpture on buildings, and spires on every church. I then know I will miss the museums, the galleries, the orchestras, concerts, shows, plays, and the advertisements for the arts. Though I was weary of hearing church bells chiming all day and night, I will also miss hearing them, keeping us in touch with the constant passing of time. I will miss the green parks of peace with flowerbeds of all colors and tulips who smiling faces opened up in sunshine and closed when seeing the clouds.
I will not miss the confluency of cigarettes, the rubbish strewn in corners, the frequent drizzle, the gloom of dark clouds, and the cold frigid air that seems permeate the bones during the winter. I am happy to have the warmth and sunshine of my Texas world (of course, I will complain about that in July like everyone else!) and look forward to running early in the morning when all is cool and calm.
In the end, it is great to be home where my family resides, where my friends smile, and where my employer reigns. My experiences were vast, eclectic, comprehensive, and life-changing, but London is not me home. I do want to say to my family and friends, however, that if I get a far away look in my eye, and you begin to wonder what I am thinking, it is likely not London. While I love London and will return every change I get, the look in my eye is for my roots in the highlands of Scotland where the beautiful, rolling hills and gentle, cool streams call for courage, strength, hard work, and honesty. As the Crest of my Scottish family says, Glory is the Reward of Valor.
I will not miss the crowded conditions of London and the feeling of being closed in and constricted by tall buildings, numerous people, cars, motorcycles, buses, and businesses. The Texas sky cannot be beat and the wide-open spaces are much to my liking. Of course, this brings to mind me time in the highlands of Scotland with the rolling hills, trees, streams, and fresh air (time for some Scottish folksongs and reminiscing!) as I sought my Brigadoon and found it in strong family connections. Anyway, I do like the Texas sky and the feeling of space and rugged strength found in our Western world. Yet in spite of the overcrowded conditions of London, I will miss the constant walking, the bus trips, the tube, and the amazing coffee and pastry shops found on every block.
It is with mixed feelings that I return to a friendly environment where strangers smile, nod, and often say hello or have conversations in stores or the workplace, a world where eye contact with everyone is the norm and there is a desire for interpersonal relationship building. Yet, ironically, there is comfort in anonymity without any kind of pressure to meet anyone. There is confidence in solitary expectations, in knowing that anything accomplished is dependent on just you, that you respect the individuality of others and consequently your own individuality is also respected. Over time in London you become less concerned with others and realize that your place in the world is your own and there is no vying for your position in society or culture. That said, I do like the friendliness of my Texas world but am also aware of the personal benefits of a less gregarious culture.
I will miss fish and chips although I must admit I got a little weary of the same flavor of fish and chips at every restaurant. A large piece of cod with fluffy batter and fat French fries. Good stuff but always the same. I am excited to have Mexican food, barbecue, smaller French fries called French fries and potato chips called chips rather than crisps. I will miss the freshness of the London food devoid of preservatives and trans fats, food that is tasty by virtue of its natural properties and food that enters the body and benefits it rather than alters it. But it is nice to buy food in Texas that will not go bad in two days time. Still, I will miss the amazing juice and bread of London, not to mention the wide variety of ethnic food found throughout London.
I will not miss the noise level of the streets with frequent sirens (the loudest, most obnoxious and screeching siren ever heard), honking horns, squeals of brakes and roar of motorcycles. It is pleasant to live in a quiet, country world with the sound of birds, wind blowing through the trees, and the occasional chirp of cicadas. Yet, admittedly the sound of the city is also the sound of progress, of development, of culture, of improvement and growth. While these sounds are annoying, they are also an emotional and physical steroid of a city on the move, depicting the collective spirit of individual achievement and commitment to success. So, yes, I like the quiet country world, but may occasionally miss the sounds of progress.
As I look at the goats, mesquites, oak trees, and grass, I start missing the architecture of London with arches, monuments, gothic detail, sculpture on buildings, and spires on every church. I then know I will miss the museums, the galleries, the orchestras, concerts, shows, plays, and the advertisements for the arts. Though I was weary of hearing church bells chiming all day and night, I will also miss hearing them, keeping us in touch with the constant passing of time. I will miss the green parks of peace with flowerbeds of all colors and tulips who smiling faces opened up in sunshine and closed when seeing the clouds.
I will not miss the confluency of cigarettes, the rubbish strewn in corners, the frequent drizzle, the gloom of dark clouds, and the cold frigid air that seems permeate the bones during the winter. I am happy to have the warmth and sunshine of my Texas world (of course, I will complain about that in July like everyone else!) and look forward to running early in the morning when all is cool and calm.
In the end, it is great to be home where my family resides, where my friends smile, and where my employer reigns. My experiences were vast, eclectic, comprehensive, and life-changing, but London is not me home. I do want to say to my family and friends, however, that if I get a far away look in my eye, and you begin to wonder what I am thinking, it is likely not London. While I love London and will return every change I get, the look in my eye is for my roots in the highlands of Scotland where the beautiful, rolling hills and gentle, cool streams call for courage, strength, hard work, and honesty. As the Crest of my Scottish family says, Glory is the Reward of Valor.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
LP LVII--War, Peace, and Books
Down to my last day in London, I made a quick trip to the Imperial War Museum. The rainy day got worse on the bus trip to the museum and by the time I arrived after a lengthy walk from the bus stop, I was very wet. With only two hours to see this extensive museum, I realized I would need to do a superficial glance at everything and focus on one area. This is generally true at all museums in London due to their sheer size and magnitude of the collections. One could visit London for 3 months and only spend time in the museums, resulting in still not being able to see everything.
The overwhelming size of the tanks, the submarines, the guns, the weaponry, and the many associated war items was both daunting and empowering, serving as a bold reminder of what war means and what it requires. Called the Large Exhibits Gallery, when a person enters, he suddenly becomes very small and in most ways quite insignificant compared to the massive bombs, rockets, and aircraft. Quickly I moved through the gallery and with a passing nod at the Bond Correspondence, a fascinating study of Ian Fleming and the Cold War by his niece Lucy, I entered an art gallery. Called This Storm Is What We Call Progress by artist Ori Gersht, I was moved by the austere and yet beautiful artworks depicting nature and humanity with their combination of darkness, courage, and beauty. Without lingering and yet impressed, I moved into another room called Crimes Against Humanity. Sitting in a room on a bench, I watched a lengthy film detailing crimes by political power, regimes, totalitarian leaders, and even well-intentioned uprisings by insurgents against innocent people. The disturbing images of human destruction, pain, and suffering as families were destroyed, lives ruined, and constant inflicting of horror took place affected me to the point of immobility.
As the film ended, I walked slowly to the exhibit on the Holocaust which is where I stayed until time to leave. The rain falling hard on the roof added to the accompanying terror as I began the walk through the extensive exhibit. Chronicling the rise of Hitler and the Nazi regime, the Holocaust exhibit demonstrates how and why the horrors happened. Wanting to read every word, but yet not wanting to, I learned about genocide, about human culling, and about getting rid of the people who were different. I read about hatred, violence, fear, and about the total disregard for human life. But as I read and felt the anguish, I also reminded myself of my own disconnection to the events. After all, I was not alive at that time plus had no real connection to either the victims nor the perpetrators. But as I rounded the corner, after having read about getting rid of Jews, blacks, and the elderly, I read about the culling out of humans with learning disabilities. The feeling of disconnection left me as I realized my own middle son would have been exterminated.
Further pictures of concentration camps, death camps, mountains of bones, valleys of bodies left me numb as the rain beat down upon the building. Leaving the museum, I walked slowly through the rain in a state of great sorrow at the horrors of the Holocaust. But it was time to do a little book shopping, so I headed to Cecil Street. This short block located off of Leicester Square has about 12 bookshops specializing in different genres of books. Each one is a gem and I eagerly explored the contents. Beautiful, well-kept books adorned the shelves and I found myself pleased with the care and compassion of the books by the owners. Mostly out of my budget, I did covet several titles and smiled when I found some books printed in England that I own back home. Finally deciding to buy all three volumes of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang by Ian Fleming, something I have sought for years, I headed back for a great fish dinner.
London time is over and much has been said and will be said again. The heritage of this great country, though filled with past violence and destruction, in the end is a history not of war but of peace and love, for it is in peace that we make progress and in peace that we love humanity. Though not me home, I have come to love London and will miss it.
The overwhelming size of the tanks, the submarines, the guns, the weaponry, and the many associated war items was both daunting and empowering, serving as a bold reminder of what war means and what it requires. Called the Large Exhibits Gallery, when a person enters, he suddenly becomes very small and in most ways quite insignificant compared to the massive bombs, rockets, and aircraft. Quickly I moved through the gallery and with a passing nod at the Bond Correspondence, a fascinating study of Ian Fleming and the Cold War by his niece Lucy, I entered an art gallery. Called This Storm Is What We Call Progress by artist Ori Gersht, I was moved by the austere and yet beautiful artworks depicting nature and humanity with their combination of darkness, courage, and beauty. Without lingering and yet impressed, I moved into another room called Crimes Against Humanity. Sitting in a room on a bench, I watched a lengthy film detailing crimes by political power, regimes, totalitarian leaders, and even well-intentioned uprisings by insurgents against innocent people. The disturbing images of human destruction, pain, and suffering as families were destroyed, lives ruined, and constant inflicting of horror took place affected me to the point of immobility.
As the film ended, I walked slowly to the exhibit on the Holocaust which is where I stayed until time to leave. The rain falling hard on the roof added to the accompanying terror as I began the walk through the extensive exhibit. Chronicling the rise of Hitler and the Nazi regime, the Holocaust exhibit demonstrates how and why the horrors happened. Wanting to read every word, but yet not wanting to, I learned about genocide, about human culling, and about getting rid of the people who were different. I read about hatred, violence, fear, and about the total disregard for human life. But as I read and felt the anguish, I also reminded myself of my own disconnection to the events. After all, I was not alive at that time plus had no real connection to either the victims nor the perpetrators. But as I rounded the corner, after having read about getting rid of Jews, blacks, and the elderly, I read about the culling out of humans with learning disabilities. The feeling of disconnection left me as I realized my own middle son would have been exterminated.
Further pictures of concentration camps, death camps, mountains of bones, valleys of bodies left me numb as the rain beat down upon the building. Leaving the museum, I walked slowly through the rain in a state of great sorrow at the horrors of the Holocaust. But it was time to do a little book shopping, so I headed to Cecil Street. This short block located off of Leicester Square has about 12 bookshops specializing in different genres of books. Each one is a gem and I eagerly explored the contents. Beautiful, well-kept books adorned the shelves and I found myself pleased with the care and compassion of the books by the owners. Mostly out of my budget, I did covet several titles and smiled when I found some books printed in England that I own back home. Finally deciding to buy all three volumes of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang by Ian Fleming, something I have sought for years, I headed back for a great fish dinner.
London time is over and much has been said and will be said again. The heritage of this great country, though filled with past violence and destruction, in the end is a history not of war but of peace and love, for it is in peace that we make progress and in peace that we love humanity. Though not me home, I have come to love London and will miss it.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
LP LVI--Matilda
Another Roald Dahl success story, Matilda has moved from children's story to film and now to the musical stage. The zingy little story of a brilliant girl subjected to stupid parents and an abusive school master is a perfect setting for a London West End show. The Cambridge Theatre is one of the newer theatres in London, having been completed in 1930. Because of the newness, it does not have the expected charm and ornate quality of most theatres in London. It does have, however, a little more space between rows which is quite comforting for those with long legs. We settled into our seats in the Grand Circle (first balcony) and knew immediately we were in for a jolly ride.
The stage was elaborately surrounded by school blocks of letters in various sizes, shapes, and font styles. It was a bold, borderline sarcastic perhaps look of an elementary classroom. The irony of the stage is that the little girl is a brilliant child whose knowledge of letters, sentences, and books is way beyond that of elementary children. The fun and rather bizarre story of Matilda is in keeping with many stories by Roald Dahl. On the surface, his plots are rather tame and predictable but underneath is another world of mystery, of fantasy, of darkness, and of magic that keeps returning in different forms. Such is the case of Matilda as well.
The show started with a bang and stayed at a high level most of the time with an energetic aura that glowed from beginning to end. The children were fun, full of electrical energy with their singing and dancing and fear of the school master (who was actually a very large, ugly mistress I think, or not!) as they collectively sought vengeance on her evil ways. Meanwhile they loved their cute, blond, innocent teacher who championed their cause and took special care with each student. Okay, not all that realistic but it gets worse!
If we deal with this realistically (which is neither right nor fair), nothing really makes sense. Even the most brilliant little girl in the world could not read 9 major works of literature in a weekend and learn to speak Russian by reading Dostoevsky in its original language. Furthermore, are there parents that amazingly stupid as to criticize reading and extol the virtues of the telly (television) while wearing absurd, wildly colorful clothing? A woman surely knows when she is 9 months pregnant and not just fat and a new father must know why the child has no "thingy!" Plus no school master is that horrible and a girl cannot be thrown by her pigtails up to the ceiling and fall back down. None of that makes sense and is all rather campy and silly. And furthermore, a smart girl is not necessarily a wizard as well and can perform magic with her eyes. So, really, the show should be outright rejected for its absurdity.
Instead, Matilda is a fun, fantastical, and frantic show that provides unabashed and uninhibited entertainment for all ages. Imaginative set designs that included massive rolling bookshelves in the library, rising desks from the stage, laser lights from the spots, and various contraptions on the wall of Matilda's bedroom. All these and more created a shimmering, magical world that enhanced the image of Matilda's engaging personality and superior intellect. She was special just like the world around her and by clever manipulation she would alter her environment to make the world a better place. The visual eye catching gimics on stage were well-done with all the smoothness expected of a West End show. Colorful, fast moving, intriguing, complicated yet child-like, the stage was always on the go, leaving the audience breathless in anticipation of the next great change.
The remarkable set design and fast-paced action was matched by the rollicking and kicking music score. With a small orchestra, typical for most West End shows, that included a trapset and bass, the music zipped along with a high sense of energy leaning on the rock music side but in a child or early teenager style. But just the audience felt we had entered some kind of Disney show, the next song would sound rather classically folk with a romantic beauty. Then suddenly Matilda's crazy parents would arrive singing a bizarre contemporary pop tune about their strange lives and absurd philosophies. The brilliant, almost pattern song based on the ABC's demonstrated how physical objects on stage can be directly integrated into the text. It was a remarkable song for teaching letters and words but was simply part of the whole as every song was captivating in its own way and style. The music was all great fun, comical, powerful, and magnetic as the audience got pulled into the sound and the music on stage.
So we have an evil and very ugly schoolmaster, a sweet teacher, lots of eager children, absurd and inane parents, great music, wonderful sets, amazing lights, hints of magic, what more is there? The show relies on a talented Matilda and this is what we got. When asked what she had read over the weekend, she listed several books such as Nicholas Nickleby, Ivanhoe, The Secret Garden, Great Expectations, Jane Eyre, Oliver Twist, and Tess of the d'Urbervilles. She held the enraptured audience in the palm of her hand through the whole show as we marveled at her intellect, championed her mischief against her parents, and cheered for her victories at the end. In the midst of this story, she tells another story that ends up being the truth about the sweet teacher. By the end, everything came together, the mob decided not to maim Matilda's worthless father, the evil schoolmaster disappeared, and all lived happily ever after.
It was simply a great, fun show deserving of high rewards. Profound not, campy yes, absurd and unrealistic, even outrageous at times, Matilda hits the right spot for those looking for some entertainment with class, for a bright shining star among the gloom, and for those moments when we put aside the tensions of the world and realize that it is okay to laugh and to sing, and maybe, just maybe, the acts of laughing and singing can become a part of our daily lives.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
LP LV--John Wesley and The Embassy
A tube ride on the Northern line brought me to Old Street followed by a nice walk to John Wesley's Chapel and Bunhill Cemetery. First entering the old, classic cemetery I realized I was in a special place for non-conformists. These are people who did not go with the flow, who were a little subversive at times, who expressed something new that was not always embraced by church leaders or government officials. At the same time, their brilliance and contributions were recognized as deserving of some kind of memorial. These were the movers and the shakers from the past whose lives are felt many years beyond their death but whose time on earth was spent in controversy, in taking a different path, sometimes in suffering for their individuality.
Walking slowly and quietly, I first came to the marker for William Blake. I then spent a few minutes pondering the life of poet William Blake whose rich, romantic poetry was filled with colorful encouragement to live creatively and mystically as opposed to the teachings of the Anglican order. Walking onward, I saw the tombstone of Daniel Defoe, popular for Robinson Crusoe and for propelling the idea of the novel forward. His work as a writer and a pamphleteer was wrought full of symbolism and analogy, resulting in many followers and, alas, many detractors. A few more steps brought me to John Bunyan the famed writer and preacher. Known for the allegory The Pilgrim's Progress, he was a colorful and energetic preacher embraced by Baptists, Quakers, and Protestant sects. Imprisoned for his outspoken beliefs but later released, he is now highly regarded by Anglicans and Protestants for his social and religious reforms that had far reaching influences.
Time to go across the street and see the chapel and home of John Wesley, founder of Methodism. I walked into the main chapel and saw beautiful stained glass, ornate engravings on the sides, wooden pews, and an austere pulpit. Looking up in the balcony was the pipe organ with gold, well organized pipes spreading out on either side of the console. Being alone in the quiet church (London is rarely quiet) gave me some meditative solitude and I found myself in gratitude for the lives of John and Charles Wesley who so profoundly ushered in a new way to live a life of religious piety. Later I descended the steps into the Wesley museum where I learned how Methodism began and all of its powerful implications for the future. John Wesley's relentless dedication to sharing the Gospel and reaching all people found a wide audience that continues to thrive today throughout the world. As I walked around looking at portraits, reading history, and seeing artifacts, I found a listening station. Attaching the headphones, I clicked on And Can It Be and heard a glorious choir and organ sing all five stanzas of the great hymn. Luckily since I was the only one in the museum, I could conduct to my hearts content and did so!
Leaving the museum, a sweet lady asked if I would like to see John Wesley's house. Smiling, I said yes and we went across the courtyard to the home. On the way, we walked by a room full of people and I overheard a discussion on charity for the homeless in the area. It was great to see Methodism at work in the world. Arriving at Wesley's home, we took the stairs and looked at his kitchen, dining room, his library, his bedroom, his sitting room, and his guest floor for visiting preachers. I saw his chair that allowed for different sitting positions while writing or reading and I saw a strange contraption called a horse chair to simulate the riding of a horse. In the corner sat an odd looking machine that the guide said was a health stimulator to help with ailments. The recent discovery of electricity by Benjamin Franklin caused Wesley to create this medical wonder to help charge the body to prevent baldness, indigestion, sleeplessness, and stop colds. Quickly asking the guide if I could try it for my own balding situation, she said no and had a little trouble controlling her laughter. I spent a few minutes studying Wesley's books and seeing the chart of preachers at churches around the UK. Then and often now, a centralized plan provided every church to have a preacher, often different each week.
As in most homes and spaces in London, the stairs, doorways, beds, and chairs were designed for smaller people and I had to imagine myself as shorter with a smaller frame. In his home was a small prayer room with a kneeling bench. It was in this room that Methodism was borne. John Wesley, his brother Charles, and several generations afterward all led lives of preaching, music, prayer, and social action. Time for me to move on but not before seeing the organ of Charles Wesley located in the small chapel on the side of the larger church. Wondering if he played And Can It Be on the organ, I left in awe of a Godly family whose insistence on relevance and compassion, in spite of persecution from the Church of England, created a religious denomination that continues to thrive in today's world.
Curious about Embassy square where the American Embassy is located, I got back on the tube and headed to Marble Arch for the walk. Arriving at the beautiful park located in the center, I immediately saw statues of Eisenhower, Roosevelt, Reagan, and the bold symbol of freedom, the American Eagle. Trying not to think too much about the protesters in the area or the guards with submachine guns walking around, I had a prideful moment when I realized the significance of the American Embassy in London. Finishing my American walk, I headed back to the room to get ready to see Matilda.
LP LIV--Evensong and Berlin Staatskapelle
Cathedrals in the United Kingdom are plentiful and each one is a special place for worship and for housing relics and people of renown. Having experienced several cathedrals throughout the United Kingdom, my favorite continues to be St. Paul's with its Classical beauty, large dome, spacious feeling, and flawless acoustics. Just as great art teaches us something new each time when we encounter it, so does St. Paul's have new and stunning revelations on each entry. Its power and majesty is matched with its personal sensitivity, intimate beauty, and careful detail. Of all the great places to visit in London, I put this Cathedral at the top of the list.
And so it was with abundant energy and excitement that I took the tube to St. Paul's and walked the short distance to the Cathedral. Up the stairs I went, two at a time in my anxiousness to get into the church, and entered. But my physical energy quickly evaporated and was replaced with great humility and awe as I walked through the nave toward the dome to experience Evensong, a choral service of evening prayer. Sitting below the dome, I prepared my heart for worship, and in prayer, released any anxieties of the day.
The prelude on the organ was subtle, musically complicated but quite sensitive just the same. The chromatic lines moving up and down with tasteful bass moments, allowed for careful organ stop alterations. Quite soft and yet with a strong musical presence, I was reminded of how the sound of an organ changes not just with the quality of the instrument or the player but also the space in which it resides. While my favorite organ experience remains that of the organ in the Minster of York, the organ in St. Paul's is a close second. The soft, gentle tones that connect to each other ring with a resonating presence from above and around due to the dome-like roundness of the hall. It is as though the sound is coming from a spirit that has engulfed the room but retained its transparency. Warm clouds of tender tones take on a life of their own as gentle but firm entities sharing their good fortune with all in the Cathedral.
The choir entered singing a rich anthem which I believe was by William Byrd due to its interchanging of polyphony and homophony. The choir was a guest choir from a university in Manchester, and it was amazing with an innocent, light almost imperceptible vibrato that added to the ambiance of the room. The sound of the choir was pure, angelic, almost mystical but at the same time courageous and expressive. What followed was a service of interplay between the choir, the leader, and the congregation. Meaningful with spiritual depth, the congregation was treated to prayers, scripture readings, and pulchritudinous music. The main anthem was a thrilling selection by Ralph Vaughan Williams called Let All the World in Every Corner Sing. Fast arpeggiated organ notes accompanied a chorale that moved forward with great energy. Almost fanfare-like, the piece was a bold expression of the powerful text. My normal hesitancy in embracing Vaughan Williams music changed with this piece as I realized his music rings with joy in a hall with a seven second reverberation.
I cannot overstate how music changes shape and feel with every space in which it is performed. This truth has altered literature, performance style, preferences, and composition over the years. A seven second reverberation results in a great elision of chords and sound, making the organ warm and resonating, and causing choirs to resound in seamless beauty. And there is no greater way to share in that experience than in an Evensong service at St. Paul's Cathedral in London.
A quick bite of fish and chips and I hopped on a bus to go to Royal Festival Hall. For the last two weeks, I have been hoping to get a ticket to the Berlin Staatskapelle concert under the direction of Daniel Barenboim. Unfortunately, the concert was sold out. But in a last second desperate attempt I arrived at the ticket queue to ask once again if there were any tickets. Much to my surprise, he said yes he had a couple of tickets that had been returned. I got out my wallet and he said it would be 85 BP! Struggling with this amount ($130 approximately), he saw the pain on my face and said he had another ticket for 45 BP. I jumped at it and with one minute to spare sat down for the musical experience of a lifetime.
Words are inadequate to describe the experience of the Berlin orchestra playing a Mozart Piano Concerto with Daniel Barenboim playing and conducting, followed by a performance of Bruckner's 7th Symphony. It was simply terrific and emotionally powerful, virtually perfect in all respects. The standing ovation (unusual in London) lasted several minutes as Daniel Barenboim returned to the stage several times for bows. The Bruckner was stunning and unforgettable and reminded me of the blessings of my time in London as I have heard the greatest orchestras in the world. '
My time is coming to close in London but I can honestly say I have experienced most of the greatness of this city. What a powerful time in my life.
And so it was with abundant energy and excitement that I took the tube to St. Paul's and walked the short distance to the Cathedral. Up the stairs I went, two at a time in my anxiousness to get into the church, and entered. But my physical energy quickly evaporated and was replaced with great humility and awe as I walked through the nave toward the dome to experience Evensong, a choral service of evening prayer. Sitting below the dome, I prepared my heart for worship, and in prayer, released any anxieties of the day.
The prelude on the organ was subtle, musically complicated but quite sensitive just the same. The chromatic lines moving up and down with tasteful bass moments, allowed for careful organ stop alterations. Quite soft and yet with a strong musical presence, I was reminded of how the sound of an organ changes not just with the quality of the instrument or the player but also the space in which it resides. While my favorite organ experience remains that of the organ in the Minster of York, the organ in St. Paul's is a close second. The soft, gentle tones that connect to each other ring with a resonating presence from above and around due to the dome-like roundness of the hall. It is as though the sound is coming from a spirit that has engulfed the room but retained its transparency. Warm clouds of tender tones take on a life of their own as gentle but firm entities sharing their good fortune with all in the Cathedral.
The choir entered singing a rich anthem which I believe was by William Byrd due to its interchanging of polyphony and homophony. The choir was a guest choir from a university in Manchester, and it was amazing with an innocent, light almost imperceptible vibrato that added to the ambiance of the room. The sound of the choir was pure, angelic, almost mystical but at the same time courageous and expressive. What followed was a service of interplay between the choir, the leader, and the congregation. Meaningful with spiritual depth, the congregation was treated to prayers, scripture readings, and pulchritudinous music. The main anthem was a thrilling selection by Ralph Vaughan Williams called Let All the World in Every Corner Sing. Fast arpeggiated organ notes accompanied a chorale that moved forward with great energy. Almost fanfare-like, the piece was a bold expression of the powerful text. My normal hesitancy in embracing Vaughan Williams music changed with this piece as I realized his music rings with joy in a hall with a seven second reverberation.
I cannot overstate how music changes shape and feel with every space in which it is performed. This truth has altered literature, performance style, preferences, and composition over the years. A seven second reverberation results in a great elision of chords and sound, making the organ warm and resonating, and causing choirs to resound in seamless beauty. And there is no greater way to share in that experience than in an Evensong service at St. Paul's Cathedral in London.
A quick bite of fish and chips and I hopped on a bus to go to Royal Festival Hall. For the last two weeks, I have been hoping to get a ticket to the Berlin Staatskapelle concert under the direction of Daniel Barenboim. Unfortunately, the concert was sold out. But in a last second desperate attempt I arrived at the ticket queue to ask once again if there were any tickets. Much to my surprise, he said yes he had a couple of tickets that had been returned. I got out my wallet and he said it would be 85 BP! Struggling with this amount ($130 approximately), he saw the pain on my face and said he had another ticket for 45 BP. I jumped at it and with one minute to spare sat down for the musical experience of a lifetime.
Words are inadequate to describe the experience of the Berlin orchestra playing a Mozart Piano Concerto with Daniel Barenboim playing and conducting, followed by a performance of Bruckner's 7th Symphony. It was simply terrific and emotionally powerful, virtually perfect in all respects. The standing ovation (unusual in London) lasted several minutes as Daniel Barenboim returned to the stage several times for bows. The Bruckner was stunning and unforgettable and reminded me of the blessings of my time in London as I have heard the greatest orchestras in the world. '
My time is coming to close in London but I can honestly say I have experienced most of the greatness of this city. What a powerful time in my life.
Monday, April 16, 2012
LP LIII--Food, Glorious Food
Thinking about the orphan boys in the musical adaptation of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, I realized I have not had gruel yet in London. The food has been quite an experience from the sausage roll on the streets to the elite dinner at an Italian restaurant over near the United States Embassy. Some friends of mine in London bought my dinner at the restaurant. Met by a sweet lady at the door, she took my coat and hat and gave me a ticket. From that moment, I knew I was about to eat a very nice dinner.
For the starter, I had a seafood salad of large prawns, fresh calamari, with bits of salmon, pasta, and lobster. With fresh bread always nearby, the waiter also frequently came to check on us, brushing away any crumbs that may have ended on the table. His commitment to our comfort and happiness was unequaled in my normal "lack of good service" London world. Soon the owner wheeled over a silver banquet cart and unveiled the choices for the evening. The Welsh leg of lamb was inviting and the sea bass almost winked at me, but I chose the veal with its steamy softness, light spices, and delicate meat.
Completely filled, soon the dessert tray came by and I found myself enjoying a type of apple delicacy with custard and cream. It was quite a treat, very different from my normal meal in London, and very much appreciated. Yet a normal meal of fish and chips (french fries to us) with garden or mushy peas always hits the spot. Or perhaps bangers (sausage to us) and mashed potatoes might just be the one. For breakfast it is fun to enjoy bacon (ham to us), scrambled eggs (free range, very healthy), some mushrooms, and a grilled tomato with toast on the side. Today at the French restaurant the lady asked me three times if I wanted "tossed" with my meal. My quizzical look made her rephrase her question and she said "cooked bread!" I realize she was trying to say toast but I misunderstood.
A typical lunch might be a bowl of soup with bread or on Sundays, a traditional carvery of roast beef or Welsh lamb with potatoes. Often a stop at the coffee shop will result a cup of coffee called an Americano and some orange juice...okay and sometimes a pastry called a chocolate paine or chocolate twist. All bread is great and I often have to resist the temptation to eat bread all day. There is no lack of restaurants or cafes in London. Walk a few steps and it is easy to find coffee, tea, pastries, sandwiches or soup. Many of these places are small with just a few tables and a toilet in the basement. In contrast to the sheer size of London and the massive buildings, most of the shops and restaurants are small and somewhat intimate. This may be due to older buildings designed for small rooms.
The cost of a meal is between 8 and 12 BP which is probably about right for an American meal, except that the dollar is about $1.61 per pound. This makes for expensive eating at every meal in London. All meals are fresh without transfats and meat is never overcooked. At first this made me nervous in light of our tendency to overcook all meat, but I have learned to accept it and enjoy it. So no gruel for me on this trip, but I have had lots of great food. I will miss it of course, but I am looking forward to a real enchilada!
For the starter, I had a seafood salad of large prawns, fresh calamari, with bits of salmon, pasta, and lobster. With fresh bread always nearby, the waiter also frequently came to check on us, brushing away any crumbs that may have ended on the table. His commitment to our comfort and happiness was unequaled in my normal "lack of good service" London world. Soon the owner wheeled over a silver banquet cart and unveiled the choices for the evening. The Welsh leg of lamb was inviting and the sea bass almost winked at me, but I chose the veal with its steamy softness, light spices, and delicate meat.
Completely filled, soon the dessert tray came by and I found myself enjoying a type of apple delicacy with custard and cream. It was quite a treat, very different from my normal meal in London, and very much appreciated. Yet a normal meal of fish and chips (french fries to us) with garden or mushy peas always hits the spot. Or perhaps bangers (sausage to us) and mashed potatoes might just be the one. For breakfast it is fun to enjoy bacon (ham to us), scrambled eggs (free range, very healthy), some mushrooms, and a grilled tomato with toast on the side. Today at the French restaurant the lady asked me three times if I wanted "tossed" with my meal. My quizzical look made her rephrase her question and she said "cooked bread!" I realize she was trying to say toast but I misunderstood.
A typical lunch might be a bowl of soup with bread or on Sundays, a traditional carvery of roast beef or Welsh lamb with potatoes. Often a stop at the coffee shop will result a cup of coffee called an Americano and some orange juice...okay and sometimes a pastry called a chocolate paine or chocolate twist. All bread is great and I often have to resist the temptation to eat bread all day. There is no lack of restaurants or cafes in London. Walk a few steps and it is easy to find coffee, tea, pastries, sandwiches or soup. Many of these places are small with just a few tables and a toilet in the basement. In contrast to the sheer size of London and the massive buildings, most of the shops and restaurants are small and somewhat intimate. This may be due to older buildings designed for small rooms.
The cost of a meal is between 8 and 12 BP which is probably about right for an American meal, except that the dollar is about $1.61 per pound. This makes for expensive eating at every meal in London. All meals are fresh without transfats and meat is never overcooked. At first this made me nervous in light of our tendency to overcook all meat, but I have learned to accept it and enjoy it. So no gruel for me on this trip, but I have had lots of great food. I will miss it of course, but I am looking forward to a real enchilada!
Sunday, April 15, 2012
LP LII--Hillsong and Yeomen of the Guard
On my last Sunday in London, I decided to attend the Hillsong service again. Having worshiped in several high church Anglican cathedrals, two Baptist churches, two smaller Anglican churches, and one Methodist church, I wanted to experience the vital, contemporary energy of Hillsong once again. The service is located in the Dominion Theatre which is where We Will Rock You is performed every night except Sundays. On the circle level (1st balcony) lobby is a montage of pictures of Freddie Mercury from childhood until his untimely death in 1991. In front of the theatre is a large gold statue of Freddie in one his most famous poses.
But this day was not about Freddie, it was about the Lord. Sitting in the stalls (bottom section) near the front, I was met with recorded music at a high decibel level. The sound was incredible, replete with woofers, sub-woofers, and mountains of speakers surrounding the stage. Plenty of monitors on the stage to help the performers were mixed well at the massive sound board located in the back. The dark room was in contrast to the joy from the people at the connection points. These are spots all around the theatre where workers meet people with friendliness and help them to their seats or show them books, pamphlets, cds, dvds, and other material. Everyone was very warm to each other and joy seemed to emanate around the room.
At 9:30 on the dot, the praise team ran on stage and began to sing. We jumped to our feet and the place began to rock. Wondering if I were the oldest in the room, it was with a comforting surprise that I saw many older adults in the congregation. The different races were well-represented and a precursory glance revealed a wide range of income levels from nearly destitute to wealthy. As most events in London, income level was not obvious and not important. The praise team consisted of 7 singers, a drummer, 2 keyboards, 1 bass guitar, and 2 guitars. Each singer and player was at a professional level and the hard-hitting drummer and bass player held the group together as well as any rock concert I have experienced. And it was a rock concert, through and through. We jumped, we shook, we moved in rhythm, we sang, we clapped, and had a great time. I could not hear myself sing nor anyone around me due to the volume level, but everyone was participating in glorious expression of joyful music.
After about 30 minutes of music, we took a few minutes to pray, followed by a dance group on stage working to raise money for charity. The preacher spoke on building a relationship with God through prayer, conduct, and commitment to Biblical truths. It was a strong sermon with Biblical references and avoidance of uncomfortable themes. I have yet to hear in London anything about a personal relationship with Jesus Christ and believe that the concept is not taught nor even thought about in London. Rather the people have a higher, loftier view of God and tend toward social justice and compassion in their theology through a Biblical historical framework.
We ended the service with another song and left feeling charged up to be better people and to serve the Lord in our community. Was it church the way I grew up? No. Was it church the way St. Paul's Cathedral was experiencing church? Not at all. Were the people worshiping collectively and individually? Absolutely. Does God like it? Not sure, but it is growing and definitely exciting. While I have friends who enjoy rock concerts, they certainly would not want one in the worship of the Lord. But others believe that if the music reaches the people and expresses Godly truth, then not only is it fine to use rock music, it is actually preferred. Philosophically and maybe theologically style is related partly to what it means to be Evangelical and to fulfill the Great Commission. Some may say, however, that being evangelical does not mean throwing away tradition and artistic excellence. Others will insist it means to use today's resources to reach people in a variety of ways. The arguments rage on and likely always will.
Did I miss the choir, the organ, the hymns? Absolutely and part of me wishes Hillsong could try some of those things and that they would actually reach more people in the process. My artistic side wonders about not doing great literature from the past and my musical ear would like more harmony and even textual interest in the songs. Was I emotionally and physically moved by the experience? Absolutely and I felt that energy in me that comes from rock music and muscular pulsation of emotions that everyone experiences. In other words, I understand why Hillsong is growing, why it has gone worldwide, and why people like it. It was fun and meaningful. Maybe, like Carl Jung postulated, we do have a dual nature and it is manifested in our musical preferences, and this is why I can worship effectively at St. Paul's Cathedral one week and worship effectively at Hillsong the next. Ah, the joys of London in its eclecticism that pervades all of life in and out of the church.
After that raw display of unbridled muscular emotion and a nice lunch of roast pork, potatoes, green beans, carrots, all topped off with a small berry custard, I hopped on a bus to see if I could get a ticket to Yeomen of the Guard. Not a Gilbert and Sullivan fan (I really hate Pirates of Penzance and dislike most of The Mikado), it was with a few misgivings that I attended the event. On the other hand, I have a begrudging respect for Arthur Sullivan's music particularly his tuneful melodies. Truthfully, Yeomen is one of my favorite operettas with a great story, intriguing setting, and fun but powerful music. After all, who does not like "I Have a Song to Sing-O"?
I was able to get a ticket in a nice seat on the side, near the stage. The performance was all great from the orchestra to the choir to the acting and finally the singing of the soloists. This wonderful performance at Royal Festival Hall was a staged version without elaborate sets but in costume and acted out. The outstanding orchestra and choir did a sensitive job of accompanying and enhancing the events on the front of the stage. The comical story with hints of anguish and disappointment was presented with musical restraint but also great British expression. Sitting with a view of the conductor, I noticed one place where a cello came in early. The conductor glared at him for a minute until he finally broke into a smile. My suspicion was that the conductor had given a slight motion that caused the early entrance. I was strangely comforted by the mistake, even professionals are not perfect, and left the performance thinking about my own musicianship and the mistakes that somehow make us better over time.
It was quite a day and deserved to be concluded with a dinner of Thai food that was a red curry sauce over duck served with gentle vegetables and steamed rice. Delicious in all respects, I will miss the suave taste of duck that is found in most Asian restaurants in London.
But this day was not about Freddie, it was about the Lord. Sitting in the stalls (bottom section) near the front, I was met with recorded music at a high decibel level. The sound was incredible, replete with woofers, sub-woofers, and mountains of speakers surrounding the stage. Plenty of monitors on the stage to help the performers were mixed well at the massive sound board located in the back. The dark room was in contrast to the joy from the people at the connection points. These are spots all around the theatre where workers meet people with friendliness and help them to their seats or show them books, pamphlets, cds, dvds, and other material. Everyone was very warm to each other and joy seemed to emanate around the room.
At 9:30 on the dot, the praise team ran on stage and began to sing. We jumped to our feet and the place began to rock. Wondering if I were the oldest in the room, it was with a comforting surprise that I saw many older adults in the congregation. The different races were well-represented and a precursory glance revealed a wide range of income levels from nearly destitute to wealthy. As most events in London, income level was not obvious and not important. The praise team consisted of 7 singers, a drummer, 2 keyboards, 1 bass guitar, and 2 guitars. Each singer and player was at a professional level and the hard-hitting drummer and bass player held the group together as well as any rock concert I have experienced. And it was a rock concert, through and through. We jumped, we shook, we moved in rhythm, we sang, we clapped, and had a great time. I could not hear myself sing nor anyone around me due to the volume level, but everyone was participating in glorious expression of joyful music.
After about 30 minutes of music, we took a few minutes to pray, followed by a dance group on stage working to raise money for charity. The preacher spoke on building a relationship with God through prayer, conduct, and commitment to Biblical truths. It was a strong sermon with Biblical references and avoidance of uncomfortable themes. I have yet to hear in London anything about a personal relationship with Jesus Christ and believe that the concept is not taught nor even thought about in London. Rather the people have a higher, loftier view of God and tend toward social justice and compassion in their theology through a Biblical historical framework.
We ended the service with another song and left feeling charged up to be better people and to serve the Lord in our community. Was it church the way I grew up? No. Was it church the way St. Paul's Cathedral was experiencing church? Not at all. Were the people worshiping collectively and individually? Absolutely. Does God like it? Not sure, but it is growing and definitely exciting. While I have friends who enjoy rock concerts, they certainly would not want one in the worship of the Lord. But others believe that if the music reaches the people and expresses Godly truth, then not only is it fine to use rock music, it is actually preferred. Philosophically and maybe theologically style is related partly to what it means to be Evangelical and to fulfill the Great Commission. Some may say, however, that being evangelical does not mean throwing away tradition and artistic excellence. Others will insist it means to use today's resources to reach people in a variety of ways. The arguments rage on and likely always will.
Did I miss the choir, the organ, the hymns? Absolutely and part of me wishes Hillsong could try some of those things and that they would actually reach more people in the process. My artistic side wonders about not doing great literature from the past and my musical ear would like more harmony and even textual interest in the songs. Was I emotionally and physically moved by the experience? Absolutely and I felt that energy in me that comes from rock music and muscular pulsation of emotions that everyone experiences. In other words, I understand why Hillsong is growing, why it has gone worldwide, and why people like it. It was fun and meaningful. Maybe, like Carl Jung postulated, we do have a dual nature and it is manifested in our musical preferences, and this is why I can worship effectively at St. Paul's Cathedral one week and worship effectively at Hillsong the next. Ah, the joys of London in its eclecticism that pervades all of life in and out of the church.
After that raw display of unbridled muscular emotion and a nice lunch of roast pork, potatoes, green beans, carrots, all topped off with a small berry custard, I hopped on a bus to see if I could get a ticket to Yeomen of the Guard. Not a Gilbert and Sullivan fan (I really hate Pirates of Penzance and dislike most of The Mikado), it was with a few misgivings that I attended the event. On the other hand, I have a begrudging respect for Arthur Sullivan's music particularly his tuneful melodies. Truthfully, Yeomen is one of my favorite operettas with a great story, intriguing setting, and fun but powerful music. After all, who does not like "I Have a Song to Sing-O"?
I was able to get a ticket in a nice seat on the side, near the stage. The performance was all great from the orchestra to the choir to the acting and finally the singing of the soloists. This wonderful performance at Royal Festival Hall was a staged version without elaborate sets but in costume and acted out. The outstanding orchestra and choir did a sensitive job of accompanying and enhancing the events on the front of the stage. The comical story with hints of anguish and disappointment was presented with musical restraint but also great British expression. Sitting with a view of the conductor, I noticed one place where a cello came in early. The conductor glared at him for a minute until he finally broke into a smile. My suspicion was that the conductor had given a slight motion that caused the early entrance. I was strangely comforted by the mistake, even professionals are not perfect, and left the performance thinking about my own musicianship and the mistakes that somehow make us better over time.
It was quite a day and deserved to be concluded with a dinner of Thai food that was a red curry sauce over duck served with gentle vegetables and steamed rice. Delicious in all respects, I will miss the suave taste of duck that is found in most Asian restaurants in London.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
LP LI--British Library and Manuscripts
There it was, the original manuscript of Handel's masterpiece called Messiah. I spent several minutes staring at the document, thinking about the melismas in the work and the orchestration. As I studied the manuscript, I could almost sense the furious pace but artistic beauty that flowed out of his pen. Always suspicious of the story of Handel composing Messiah in 24 days, I looked carefully for inconsistencies in the manuscript, for places that came from another hand, for a little post editing by someone or a filling in of the missing ideas. The more I studied, the more entranced I became. Needing to see other manuscripts in the collection, I took a few more minutes before moving onto the next one.
Later, just before closing time and before I left the Library, I stopped in the bookstore and found a published facsimile of Handel's Messiah. Not willing to pay 250 BP, I did spend a few minutes in study once again. I looked for inconsistencies, changes, alterations to the notes, flying stems, different notation systems, unusual expressions of non-harmonic tones. But much to my joy and, strangely, my sorrow I found none. It was all in the same hand and that hand is George Frederick Handel. In spite of my misgivings and suspicions, it appears that indeed Handel wrote Messiah in 24 days, a miracle of composition.
Back to the manuscripts. Next in line was the exquisite Concerto No. 3 in Eb major for Horn and Orchestra by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. As I stared at the second movement and the opening of the third, I felt as though I were falling into the pages, as though I were having an Alice in Wonderland moment where I materialized into one of the notes coming from the pen of the master. The music was suddenly magnified in my mind to a living and breathing entity as I felt the excitement and genius of Mozart expressing himself through music. Without error but also without excessive detail, Mozart dashed off this brilliant work as easily as we give thought to our everyday lives. As I had always suspected and have now confirmed, Mozart's manuscript is fastidious but not pedantic, precise but not trivial, gliding without bumps, and flawless but never contrived. He wrote what was in his head and it came out easily with infallibility. Never worried about every detail, he was obviously intent on the big picture of the musical goals and the expression. Allowing for some performance interpretation by virtue of his minimalistic scoring, at the same time his manuscript demonstrates great attention to balance, line, harmony, and character. As in all things Mozartian, it shows the correct balance of detail versus overall musical goals. Once again, I was enamored with his music, his writing, and brilliance. Lifting myself out of the score, I moved on but not without my characteristic smile and nod to one of the greatest composers in history.
A quick glance at a Schubert manuscript of a song reminded me of his tendency toward triteness and predictability (sorry Schubert fans). I spent a little more time on a Mendelssohn manuscript and smiled when I saw his system of repeating measures. He would write a measure that would be used later and call it number one. Then when it was time to use it again, he just put a one in the measure rather than write it all out. Kind of a musicians shorthand and a little bit on the path of least resistance. I am not a huge Mendelssohn fan, but there are several things that are profound and meaningful.
A quick look at Ravel's Bolero and I was amazed at his fastidious manuscript, perfect in all respects. Quite different, however, from Beethoven who was a total slob in his manuscripts. Big scratch outs, blobs of ink, lines going different ways, indecisive at times, bold at others, Beethoven was a mental hodge-podge of confusion, power, and insecurity. Still, there is something brilliant about Beethoven and seeing his manuscript points to a man whose genius never allowed him to be completely satisfied with his music.
We study manuscripts to gain some inside perception into the person, to learn what makes him tick, to see the pain, the joy, the ease, or in Beethoven's case the struggles to express. So what is going to happen in the future with music and literature? In 200 years will anyone be studying manuscripts of our time? How can future scholars learn about manuscripts from a computer? How will this change the understanding of music? Good questions and there are no answers. But for now, I am honored to have spent some time with these great composers, to see their writing, to share in their brilliance, and to delve into their creativity and imagination. My time at the British Library was productive, beneficial, and in the case of Mozart, emotional!
Later, just before closing time and before I left the Library, I stopped in the bookstore and found a published facsimile of Handel's Messiah. Not willing to pay 250 BP, I did spend a few minutes in study once again. I looked for inconsistencies, changes, alterations to the notes, flying stems, different notation systems, unusual expressions of non-harmonic tones. But much to my joy and, strangely, my sorrow I found none. It was all in the same hand and that hand is George Frederick Handel. In spite of my misgivings and suspicions, it appears that indeed Handel wrote Messiah in 24 days, a miracle of composition.
Back to the manuscripts. Next in line was the exquisite Concerto No. 3 in Eb major for Horn and Orchestra by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. As I stared at the second movement and the opening of the third, I felt as though I were falling into the pages, as though I were having an Alice in Wonderland moment where I materialized into one of the notes coming from the pen of the master. The music was suddenly magnified in my mind to a living and breathing entity as I felt the excitement and genius of Mozart expressing himself through music. Without error but also without excessive detail, Mozart dashed off this brilliant work as easily as we give thought to our everyday lives. As I had always suspected and have now confirmed, Mozart's manuscript is fastidious but not pedantic, precise but not trivial, gliding without bumps, and flawless but never contrived. He wrote what was in his head and it came out easily with infallibility. Never worried about every detail, he was obviously intent on the big picture of the musical goals and the expression. Allowing for some performance interpretation by virtue of his minimalistic scoring, at the same time his manuscript demonstrates great attention to balance, line, harmony, and character. As in all things Mozartian, it shows the correct balance of detail versus overall musical goals. Once again, I was enamored with his music, his writing, and brilliance. Lifting myself out of the score, I moved on but not without my characteristic smile and nod to one of the greatest composers in history.
A quick glance at a Schubert manuscript of a song reminded me of his tendency toward triteness and predictability (sorry Schubert fans). I spent a little more time on a Mendelssohn manuscript and smiled when I saw his system of repeating measures. He would write a measure that would be used later and call it number one. Then when it was time to use it again, he just put a one in the measure rather than write it all out. Kind of a musicians shorthand and a little bit on the path of least resistance. I am not a huge Mendelssohn fan, but there are several things that are profound and meaningful.
A quick look at Ravel's Bolero and I was amazed at his fastidious manuscript, perfect in all respects. Quite different, however, from Beethoven who was a total slob in his manuscripts. Big scratch outs, blobs of ink, lines going different ways, indecisive at times, bold at others, Beethoven was a mental hodge-podge of confusion, power, and insecurity. Still, there is something brilliant about Beethoven and seeing his manuscript points to a man whose genius never allowed him to be completely satisfied with his music.
We study manuscripts to gain some inside perception into the person, to learn what makes him tick, to see the pain, the joy, the ease, or in Beethoven's case the struggles to express. So what is going to happen in the future with music and literature? In 200 years will anyone be studying manuscripts of our time? How can future scholars learn about manuscripts from a computer? How will this change the understanding of music? Good questions and there are no answers. But for now, I am honored to have spent some time with these great composers, to see their writing, to share in their brilliance, and to delve into their creativity and imagination. My time at the British Library was productive, beneficial, and in the case of Mozart, emotional!
LP L--Band concert
Having heard the finest orchestras in the world, seen the finest shows, heard amazing choirs, organs, piano concerts, and every kind of soloist imaginable, I still felt a gap in my listening experience in London. But I filled that void with a band concert. It was the Massed Bands serving Her Majesty's Royal Marines and it was an incredible concert. The concert was in the beautiful and stunning Royal Albert Hall and our seats were under the pipes of the magnificent organ. As I sat in the hall, I remembered the scene in A Man Who Knew Too Much when Jimmy Stewart attacked the assassin as the conductor cued the cymbal crash. Doris Day screams, the assassin's bullet misses and after a brief tussle with Jimmy Stewart, the assassin falls to his death out of the box in Royal Albert Hall. Quite a scene and filmed across from where we sat.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rRyrDahMLOM
Three United Kingdom Marine bands combined for the concert designed as a fund raiser for the bands' charitable trust fund. Like any good band concert, it began with the National Anthem God Save the Queen and we stood with everyone else as the 5,000+ audience sang with zeal. What followed was an eclectic mix of music for all ages, from traditional marches through classical and even rock. The three hour program which included an intermission...oops, I mean interval...was full of musical energy and played at a top level from beginning to end. Especially exciting was the arrangement of Barry Manilow tunes with a driving trapset and an electric guitar and bass to support the band.
Just as the band seemed to become a hard rock band, they would shift gears into a traditional march followed by an orchestral transcription. We heard the Olympic Fanfare by John Williams, Stravinsky's Firebird, and the wonderful Crown Imperial by William Walton. A nice set of television detective themes was balanced with a beautiful vocal rendition of My Heart Will Go On from Titanic. Near the end of the concert the band broke into Land of Hope and Glory by Elgar which we know as Pomp and Circumstance. Much to our surprise, all around us people lifted British flags and began to wave them in rhythm. Obviously a long tradition, I could not help but think of yet another graduation ceremony.
I now feel complete. I heard a band concert and what a glorious treat it was indeed. Seeing the drums and fanfare trumpets surrounding the hall doing regimental drumming gave me a further sense of the pride of this country, a pride that points to the past with its royalty and its arts culture. But also a pride that insists on excellence at all levels as it embraces the developing future. While there may have been a few pieces that not everyone loved, there was enough variety to cast a wide net of musical love on the people. Perhaps this is the future of music, to love it all and do it all well regardless of the genre, to perform expressively and give each note, each sound, each moment its due, and to love what music can do for the human spirit.
Friday, April 13, 2012
LP XLIX--Dickens and Rain, Kensington
This time it was not a West End show but was still outstanding. A musical version of the Dickens' classic A Tale of Two Cities, the show captured the essence of the marvelous story of sacrifice, redemption, evil, and love. Unlike the elaborate staging of many musicals in London, this was performed in a small, intimate space without a pit orchestra and without the luxury of great stage flexibility. The accompanying piano was located on the back of the stage where there was no need for a conductor. No flying people, no falling rain, no singing dragons, and no rotating stage, instead the musical was filled with terrific singing, tuneful melodies, intense darkness, and powerful emotions.
From the tearful pleading song of the daughter to her father as she tells him to let go and cry, knowing he needed to be brought out of his mental darkness, to the evil hatred of the surviving child whose family was destroyed at the hands of the ruling power, the musical wrenched at our heartstrings in every way. As all great art tends to do, we were changed by the experience and grew from the anguish of the events on stage. The gripping ending with its tragic courage and sacrifice left the audience members shaken by the pain and ultimate redemption of the people.
Having spent a few hours in the Charles Dickens display at the Museum of London, I felt a connection to the story not previously experienced. Dickens' desire to make social change through greater compassion for the underprivileged while pointing out the abuses of the wealthy and the power structures, make for stories and books that are both entertaining and filled with great wisdom and perception. At times wildly humorous (I still laugh when I think about David Copperfield pointing out how awful the flute player sounded!), at other times emotional shattering, Charles Dickens is an author whose books are far-reaching and still have impact on us today.
In contrast to the rich emotional experience of Tale of Two Cities, I thoroughly enjoyed the West End musical Singing in the Rain. Lavish costumes, wonderful dancing, colorful usage of lights, comical energy, electrifying scenery added to the enjoyment of this great musical. Make'em Laugh was as entertaining as always and the highlight of the show was of course the title song Singing in the Rain. During this song, a large amount of water came down on the stage, resulting in a few wet people on the front rows and a fun dance routine on stage. Okay, not quite Gene Kelley, it was still amazing and very fun to see the dancer swing around with an umbrella while singing. And who cannot be moved by the moment when Don Lockwood reveals that it was Kathy Selden who sang for Lena Lamont. Non-stop fun and also educational as we see the transition from silent film to talking movies, Singing in the Rain is family entertainment at its best.
Today I visited Kensington Park for the first time to see the monuments. Across from Royal Albert Hall is a fantastic structure to Albert and Victoria. Is is inlaid with gold trim and emanates wealth and grandeur. Setting the stage for the beautiful park, I continued past the tribute, found another monument, kept walking, and eventually settled in at the Princess Diana fountain. Unlike other fountains, this one was simple and designed for tranquility and reflection. Not wanting to disappoint the intention, I paused for a few moments to allow for peaceful contemplation of the brief but poignant life of Princess Diana. Over to the side was a massive bronze called Isis of a strong but peaceful bird.
This idea of peace continued to be a part of my day when I went to a different part of London. Walking around a corner, I saw a nice sculpture of Nelson Mandela and read about his life in prison as his stood for his principles. A bus trip and walk then brought me to the Garden of Peace which was filled with blooming flowers, colorful trees, and several memorials. In the middle of the garden we see Ghandi in a sitting position as he insisted on non-violence regardless of the events around him. No crazy dogs with sweaters interfered with my time, and I sat on a bench wondering when the world would embrace love over power and war. Wondering if my study of Rock music were making me a hippie (did I sound like Yoko Ono? Scary!), I left the garden to get ready to attend another concert.
From the tearful pleading song of the daughter to her father as she tells him to let go and cry, knowing he needed to be brought out of his mental darkness, to the evil hatred of the surviving child whose family was destroyed at the hands of the ruling power, the musical wrenched at our heartstrings in every way. As all great art tends to do, we were changed by the experience and grew from the anguish of the events on stage. The gripping ending with its tragic courage and sacrifice left the audience members shaken by the pain and ultimate redemption of the people.
Having spent a few hours in the Charles Dickens display at the Museum of London, I felt a connection to the story not previously experienced. Dickens' desire to make social change through greater compassion for the underprivileged while pointing out the abuses of the wealthy and the power structures, make for stories and books that are both entertaining and filled with great wisdom and perception. At times wildly humorous (I still laugh when I think about David Copperfield pointing out how awful the flute player sounded!), at other times emotional shattering, Charles Dickens is an author whose books are far-reaching and still have impact on us today.
In contrast to the rich emotional experience of Tale of Two Cities, I thoroughly enjoyed the West End musical Singing in the Rain. Lavish costumes, wonderful dancing, colorful usage of lights, comical energy, electrifying scenery added to the enjoyment of this great musical. Make'em Laugh was as entertaining as always and the highlight of the show was of course the title song Singing in the Rain. During this song, a large amount of water came down on the stage, resulting in a few wet people on the front rows and a fun dance routine on stage. Okay, not quite Gene Kelley, it was still amazing and very fun to see the dancer swing around with an umbrella while singing. And who cannot be moved by the moment when Don Lockwood reveals that it was Kathy Selden who sang for Lena Lamont. Non-stop fun and also educational as we see the transition from silent film to talking movies, Singing in the Rain is family entertainment at its best.
Today I visited Kensington Park for the first time to see the monuments. Across from Royal Albert Hall is a fantastic structure to Albert and Victoria. Is is inlaid with gold trim and emanates wealth and grandeur. Setting the stage for the beautiful park, I continued past the tribute, found another monument, kept walking, and eventually settled in at the Princess Diana fountain. Unlike other fountains, this one was simple and designed for tranquility and reflection. Not wanting to disappoint the intention, I paused for a few moments to allow for peaceful contemplation of the brief but poignant life of Princess Diana. Over to the side was a massive bronze called Isis of a strong but peaceful bird.
This idea of peace continued to be a part of my day when I went to a different part of London. Walking around a corner, I saw a nice sculpture of Nelson Mandela and read about his life in prison as his stood for his principles. A bus trip and walk then brought me to the Garden of Peace which was filled with blooming flowers, colorful trees, and several memorials. In the middle of the garden we see Ghandi in a sitting position as he insisted on non-violence regardless of the events around him. No crazy dogs with sweaters interfered with my time, and I sat on a bench wondering when the world would embrace love over power and war. Wondering if my study of Rock music were making me a hippie (did I sound like Yoko Ono? Scary!), I left the garden to get ready to attend another concert.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
LP XLVIII--Sculptures, Architecture, Parks
Not being a visual person necessarily but at the same time having great respect for visual art, I decided to take some pictures of various sculptures and architecture around London. As I walked through areas not previously visited, it occurred to me that London is full of beautiful grassy parks. Some of these parks are small, others large, while others seem to encompass broad parts of the city. The small ones are peaceful, well-manicured with beautiful flowers, neatly trimmed, and often with a fountain and a monument. There are nice benches, areas in which to play, and a walking/running path for those wanting exercise. Each morning a large rubbish truck stops by to clean up any rubbish from the day before and empty all the rubbish bins. Most of the parks are locked around 11 p.m. to prevent the homeless from sleeping on the benches.
Regarding the homeless, there are some of these around but there are also many churches, hostels, and community places for them. Some do seem helpless for various reasons but it appears as though civic minded people are ready to help. Others seem rampantly intent on begging with a type of aggression and single-mindedness that is probably a deterrent more than a benefit. One such fellow got some money from me early on until I realized he immediately bought cigarettes and alcohol with the money. Watching him now for three months, I realize he is a professional at getting money from people. He puts great effort into the process and demonstrates very little if any appreciation.
Aside from the occasional blight, the parks are beautiful and peaceful. One large park actually has a large imposing gated entrance. It is stunning and seems to say "this park is for you but you better not abuse it!" In addition to large green areas, there are several sculptures and fountains in this wonderful park. Occasionally a group of large white horses and their riders come through slowly, looking majestically pleasant as they trot through the park. Somehow their presence combined with sculptures, fountains, and a large, quiet park points to a tradition that in London is relished and treasured.
After walking through the gates, I quickly saw a scultpture of such magnitude that it caught my breath. Hurrying over to it I saw yet another Duke of Wellington monument. This one was actually of Achilles in all his muscular glory. It was full of strength and motion as he seemed to dominate all matter around him. His upward glance gave him a look of deity in spite of his obviously human characteristics. On a superficial level, he looked like a superhero protecting the people, but on a deeper level we realize the significance and power of strong leadership and military protection. The Duke of Wellington exemplifies British military excellence as he defeated the French and Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo.
Walking further, I came upon a large head of a horse. Realistic in a way but also strangely abstract, the horse seems to be looking around at the people that walk by. It is an unusual piece but also comfortably familiar with its combination of naturalism and abstraction. Realizing I was near the Cumberland Hotel, I ran in to get a picture of Jimi Hendrix who is memorialized on the wall of the hotel lobby. Looking around, I saw the sculpture of the sideways man and smiled as I studied him suspended in the air by just his elbow. Not sure what the piece means or what the artist is trying to say, I nevertheless really admire the work.
One of the great sculptors in history is Rodin. Known for The Thinker, each piece is an emotional presentation of human anxiety, failures, nobility, and ultimately victory. His work has a collective energy while retaining a personal spirit that cannot help but change the viewer in some way. The beautiful soft lines are in contrast with the rich etchings of muscle and power that find their way into the smallest detail of his work. As I walked around Parliament, I looked over and saw a large sculpture that captured my attention. Moving slowly to it, almost without taking my eyes off, I felt the magnetic pull of artistic beauty. Finally I arrived and studied the magnificent work. Only Auguste Rodin could have done such a stunning piece. Called the Burghers of Calais, it shows the six wealthy leaders of Calais with nooses around their necks as they agree to their own execution to save their city. Extraordinary in craft, stunning in expression, the piece secures Rodin's place in history as one of the world's greatest sculptors.
When the busy and often loud London world threatens to interfere with the inner peace so often needed in our world, it is time to settle into a bench at one of the beautiful parks and take a few moments to reflect on the sublime and the beautiful world God has made.
Regarding the homeless, there are some of these around but there are also many churches, hostels, and community places for them. Some do seem helpless for various reasons but it appears as though civic minded people are ready to help. Others seem rampantly intent on begging with a type of aggression and single-mindedness that is probably a deterrent more than a benefit. One such fellow got some money from me early on until I realized he immediately bought cigarettes and alcohol with the money. Watching him now for three months, I realize he is a professional at getting money from people. He puts great effort into the process and demonstrates very little if any appreciation.
Aside from the occasional blight, the parks are beautiful and peaceful. One large park actually has a large imposing gated entrance. It is stunning and seems to say "this park is for you but you better not abuse it!" In addition to large green areas, there are several sculptures and fountains in this wonderful park. Occasionally a group of large white horses and their riders come through slowly, looking majestically pleasant as they trot through the park. Somehow their presence combined with sculptures, fountains, and a large, quiet park points to a tradition that in London is relished and treasured.
After walking through the gates, I quickly saw a scultpture of such magnitude that it caught my breath. Hurrying over to it I saw yet another Duke of Wellington monument. This one was actually of Achilles in all his muscular glory. It was full of strength and motion as he seemed to dominate all matter around him. His upward glance gave him a look of deity in spite of his obviously human characteristics. On a superficial level, he looked like a superhero protecting the people, but on a deeper level we realize the significance and power of strong leadership and military protection. The Duke of Wellington exemplifies British military excellence as he defeated the French and Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo.
Walking further, I came upon a large head of a horse. Realistic in a way but also strangely abstract, the horse seems to be looking around at the people that walk by. It is an unusual piece but also comfortably familiar with its combination of naturalism and abstraction. Realizing I was near the Cumberland Hotel, I ran in to get a picture of Jimi Hendrix who is memorialized on the wall of the hotel lobby. Looking around, I saw the sculpture of the sideways man and smiled as I studied him suspended in the air by just his elbow. Not sure what the piece means or what the artist is trying to say, I nevertheless really admire the work.
One of the great sculptors in history is Rodin. Known for The Thinker, each piece is an emotional presentation of human anxiety, failures, nobility, and ultimately victory. His work has a collective energy while retaining a personal spirit that cannot help but change the viewer in some way. The beautiful soft lines are in contrast with the rich etchings of muscle and power that find their way into the smallest detail of his work. As I walked around Parliament, I looked over and saw a large sculpture that captured my attention. Moving slowly to it, almost without taking my eyes off, I felt the magnetic pull of artistic beauty. Finally I arrived and studied the magnificent work. Only Auguste Rodin could have done such a stunning piece. Called the Burghers of Calais, it shows the six wealthy leaders of Calais with nooses around their necks as they agree to their own execution to save their city. Extraordinary in craft, stunning in expression, the piece secures Rodin's place in history as one of the world's greatest sculptors.
When the busy and often loud London world threatens to interfere with the inner peace so often needed in our world, it is time to settle into a bench at one of the beautiful parks and take a few moments to reflect on the sublime and the beautiful world God has made.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
LP XLVII--Billy Elliot and Shows
One of the top West End shows, Billy Elliot continues to attract a full house at every performance. I decided to see it for the second time. Based on a movie of the same name, Elton John added songs to the outstanding story of a boy wanting to be a dancer but growing up with an expectation of being a boxer and later a miner. While the story may not be all that original, underprivileged boy with talent finally gets a chance to escape his environment, in the hands of Elton John it becomes a musical and emotional delight.
Certainly one of my favorite shows, each song is a gem of invention and balance from the sarcastic comedy of Merry Christmas, Maggie Thatcher to the touching sentimentality of The Letter. With great energy that alternates anger with joy, fear with comfort, humor with serious, the musical zings around, leaving the audience breathless with emotion and excitement. We cheer for Billy, we fear for his brother, we anguish with the father, and we are angry with the political machinations that are affecting the miners. When the father sings of his homeland and his sadness, we are touched by the Irish folk music. When Billy expresses his anger by kicking and yelling during the police intrusion on the miners, we share in his furious action.
Then when Billy auditions for the ballet company and on his way out begins singing Electricity, we are completely caught up in his desire for a better world. Perhaps the greatest moment of the musical occurs when Billy begins to imagine himself as a ballet dancer. On stage we experience a second more mature Billy and when they dance together, the magic of a flying Billy lifts the audience to a dream-like emotion. Our heart skips a beat when Billy is flung out to the people and lifted to the top of the stage. Quite a moment.
But in some ways it was all expected. After all we are talking about a West End show in London. Every West End show, Wicked, Les Miserables, Phantom, Shrek the Musical, Lion King, Rock of Ages, We Will Rock You, and the list continues, is at the highest level. The staging, the acting, the singing, the lighting, the sets, costumes, and the energy are all executed with perfection and artistry. Only the best are allowed on stage or in the pit. It makes for an artistic experience that brings together music, theatre, art, and technical skill that surpasses anything else on the planet. Add all that to a classy space adorned with ornamented boxes, small but plush seats, colorful carpets and gold trim and the audience is given a non-stop treat of artistic joy.
There are many reasons to visit London, but one should not leave without experience a West End Musical. Just pick one or fifteen and attend. You will be entranced from beginning to end.
Certainly one of my favorite shows, each song is a gem of invention and balance from the sarcastic comedy of Merry Christmas, Maggie Thatcher to the touching sentimentality of The Letter. With great energy that alternates anger with joy, fear with comfort, humor with serious, the musical zings around, leaving the audience breathless with emotion and excitement. We cheer for Billy, we fear for his brother, we anguish with the father, and we are angry with the political machinations that are affecting the miners. When the father sings of his homeland and his sadness, we are touched by the Irish folk music. When Billy expresses his anger by kicking and yelling during the police intrusion on the miners, we share in his furious action.
Then when Billy auditions for the ballet company and on his way out begins singing Electricity, we are completely caught up in his desire for a better world. Perhaps the greatest moment of the musical occurs when Billy begins to imagine himself as a ballet dancer. On stage we experience a second more mature Billy and when they dance together, the magic of a flying Billy lifts the audience to a dream-like emotion. Our heart skips a beat when Billy is flung out to the people and lifted to the top of the stage. Quite a moment.
But in some ways it was all expected. After all we are talking about a West End show in London. Every West End show, Wicked, Les Miserables, Phantom, Shrek the Musical, Lion King, Rock of Ages, We Will Rock You, and the list continues, is at the highest level. The staging, the acting, the singing, the lighting, the sets, costumes, and the energy are all executed with perfection and artistry. Only the best are allowed on stage or in the pit. It makes for an artistic experience that brings together music, theatre, art, and technical skill that surpasses anything else on the planet. Add all that to a classy space adorned with ornamented boxes, small but plush seats, colorful carpets and gold trim and the audience is given a non-stop treat of artistic joy.
There are many reasons to visit London, but one should not leave without experience a West End Musical. Just pick one or fifteen and attend. You will be entranced from beginning to end.
Saturday, April 07, 2012
LP XLVI--Cultural Considerations
When in London, there are several things to remember in order to fit into the culture. As I have mentioned, traffic is on the left side. This may be a carry over from many years ago when Knights jousted in the streets. This makes everything on the streets feel different including getting on a bus, crossing the street, turns, and parallel parking. While adjustment is not difficult, it does require constant attention to traffic in all directions. Strangely, after being here 3 months, it becomes second nature to pause at every intersection and tune into the potential dangers in all directions. It actually makes for a comfort level over time that you will not automatically rush into traffic or instant death. With a form of behavioral conditioning, walking the streets of London is easy and strangely entertaining, almost like a big frogger game!
Doors tend to open on the inside requiring a push rather than a pull. Keys turn to the right rather than to the left and doorknobs turn left rather than right. Toilets are rare and your personal needs have to be planned according to your location. While this is frustrating at first, over time you learn to plan and anticipate any physical requirements that may occur. Pace is quick in London and you learn to stay on the footpath (not sidewalk) and to walk around people when necessary, knowing someone will probably walk around you. There is no making eye contact with others and one should never to say hello to a stranger. In spite of being close to people due to the sheer numbers around you, there is no expectation of friendliness. At the same time, there is a social expectation of being polite and taking turns or waiting in the queue.
It is all about the queue in London. There is almost always a line for something and you wait in it like everyone else until your turn arrives. Get in the queue and stay there, no cutting corners. Pushing and shoving is frowned on and often results in becoming an instant enemy to the people. When someone is not polite, several others turn on him quickly, making him a pariah to the people. Not good. The plethora of cameras may contribute to what is a safe, non-violent existence in London. Far from perfect, it is a secure environment and aside from the fear of death at every intersection, people are safe from harm.
Small talk or frivolous conversation is very unusual and generally met with suspicion. Buying items at the store becomes a professional engagement without any kind of personal interaction at all. Again, polite behavior is expected but overly congenial conversation is not. Get in the queue, when your turn comes get your item, pay for it and leave. While this may sound cold to our Texas friendly ways, in fact it is normal and ironically pleasant. There is no pressure to try for false conversation. Whether you are in a bad or good mood or feel great or feel terrible, the action is the same. Get the item and leave. Speaking of the item, if you are going to drink the coffee inside, you will pay more for the privilege. Otherwise it is to "takeaway" and the cost is less. At a restaurant, you must ask for the bill or you will be there all day waiting. It is considered impolite to bring you the bill before you ask for it.
Walking is the expectation in London and that is what people do. It is imperative to accept lots of walking and learn how to navigate the tube and bus systems. Once those are mastered, plus the acceptance of lots of walking, you have become a Londoner! Once you reach that point, your impatience with tourists begins. They take too many pictures, walk in groups of three or four, are too slow, and seem generally confused. Having been one not that long ago, I recognize the signs quickly. Londoners know that tourists keep the economy moving, and they are proud that the town is sought after for its arts, its museums, its history, and its amazing architecture. But at the same time, tourists can make moving around quite difficult.
Is there resentment toward Americans? Maybe a little. Historical grudges are lasting and after all, we did break away from the King many years ago. At the same time, we do have a direct kinship, and with London's huge influx of multi-nationalities, anyone speaking English, even with an odd accent, is often appreciated by Londoners. Ironically, there seems to be a greater respect for Texans than for Americans. I believe this is due to television and Cowboy movies. Many people in London still remember the old show called "Dallas"!
I have grown to love this city and will deeply miss the immersion in the arts and culture. Everyday is a new adventure of some kind and there is never a lack of things to see or do. It makes for a mosaic of colorful experiences that never grows old. At the same time, it is not "me home" and I am ready to return to Texas.
Doors tend to open on the inside requiring a push rather than a pull. Keys turn to the right rather than to the left and doorknobs turn left rather than right. Toilets are rare and your personal needs have to be planned according to your location. While this is frustrating at first, over time you learn to plan and anticipate any physical requirements that may occur. Pace is quick in London and you learn to stay on the footpath (not sidewalk) and to walk around people when necessary, knowing someone will probably walk around you. There is no making eye contact with others and one should never to say hello to a stranger. In spite of being close to people due to the sheer numbers around you, there is no expectation of friendliness. At the same time, there is a social expectation of being polite and taking turns or waiting in the queue.
It is all about the queue in London. There is almost always a line for something and you wait in it like everyone else until your turn arrives. Get in the queue and stay there, no cutting corners. Pushing and shoving is frowned on and often results in becoming an instant enemy to the people. When someone is not polite, several others turn on him quickly, making him a pariah to the people. Not good. The plethora of cameras may contribute to what is a safe, non-violent existence in London. Far from perfect, it is a secure environment and aside from the fear of death at every intersection, people are safe from harm.
Small talk or frivolous conversation is very unusual and generally met with suspicion. Buying items at the store becomes a professional engagement without any kind of personal interaction at all. Again, polite behavior is expected but overly congenial conversation is not. Get in the queue, when your turn comes get your item, pay for it and leave. While this may sound cold to our Texas friendly ways, in fact it is normal and ironically pleasant. There is no pressure to try for false conversation. Whether you are in a bad or good mood or feel great or feel terrible, the action is the same. Get the item and leave. Speaking of the item, if you are going to drink the coffee inside, you will pay more for the privilege. Otherwise it is to "takeaway" and the cost is less. At a restaurant, you must ask for the bill or you will be there all day waiting. It is considered impolite to bring you the bill before you ask for it.
Walking is the expectation in London and that is what people do. It is imperative to accept lots of walking and learn how to navigate the tube and bus systems. Once those are mastered, plus the acceptance of lots of walking, you have become a Londoner! Once you reach that point, your impatience with tourists begins. They take too many pictures, walk in groups of three or four, are too slow, and seem generally confused. Having been one not that long ago, I recognize the signs quickly. Londoners know that tourists keep the economy moving, and they are proud that the town is sought after for its arts, its museums, its history, and its amazing architecture. But at the same time, tourists can make moving around quite difficult.
Is there resentment toward Americans? Maybe a little. Historical grudges are lasting and after all, we did break away from the King many years ago. At the same time, we do have a direct kinship, and with London's huge influx of multi-nationalities, anyone speaking English, even with an odd accent, is often appreciated by Londoners. Ironically, there seems to be a greater respect for Texans than for Americans. I believe this is due to television and Cowboy movies. Many people in London still remember the old show called "Dallas"!
I have grown to love this city and will deeply miss the immersion in the arts and culture. Everyday is a new adventure of some kind and there is never a lack of things to see or do. It makes for a mosaic of colorful experiences that never grows old. At the same time, it is not "me home" and I am ready to return to Texas.
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
LP XLV--Brain and Lister
With my time in London down to a little more than 2 weeks, I have a personal bucket list of things to do. This morning was a trip to Hampstead Cemetery to pay tribute to two people whose lives were significant in different ways.
Taking the tube to West Hampstead, I exited and began the walk to the cemetery. As I walked uphill through a residential area, and of course stopping at a couple of bookstores on the way, I began to reflect on the life of horn player Dennis Brain. Born in 1921, the son of horn player Aubrey Brain, Dennis began playing professionally at the age of 17. His remarkable gifts on the horn continued as he played Principal Horn with the National Symphony Orchestra and later with the Royal Philharmonic. Many well-known composers wrote works for him including Paul Hindemith, Malcolm Arnold, Benjamin Britten, Gordon Jacob, and Lennox Berkeley. Francis Poulenc composed a piece in his memory on September 2, 1957, the day after Brain was killed in an auto accident. Brain's many recordings are stellar examples of artistry and perfection, including one of if not the finest recordings of the Mozart Horn Concertos.
As a young horn player, we owned a recording of the horn concertos by Mozart and I recall sitting with my ear to the speaker and listening to the vinyl recording over and over. Dennis Brain was tragically killed in an auto accident on September 1, 1957, and I was born exactly three years later. I believe his influence over my musicianship and horn playing, due to countless hours of listening to his recordings, has continued to this day, giving me a good reason to find his grave in Hampstead Cemetery.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dennis_Brain
Arriving at the cemetery where many thousands are buried, I quickly realized it was an impossible task to find the marker for Dennis Brain without some help. I walked to the entrance but could find nobody around. Frustrated, I looked and saw a small bulletin board with some information. To my astonishment, there was a list of significant people buried in the cemetery (I know what you are thinking...everyone is significant, but you also know what I mean!) to include the two people I sought--Dennis Brain and Joseph Lister. Yet even with the help, it took me several minutes to find Dennis Brain. Faded with time and mostly covered by a flowering plant, it was with a moment of silence that I greeted the headstone and thought more about his remarkable artistry. Moving the plant aside, I read the poem by Paul Hindemith and reflected with appreciation and admiration upon the life of Dennis Brain.
My call transforms
The hall to autumn-tinted groves
What is into what
Has been....
Time to move on and find the grave of Joseph Lister. Although I have no personal stories or connection to Joseph Lister, in many ways all of us are indebted to this amazing surgeon/scientist. He introduced and pioneered sterile environments for surgery, preventing the deaths due to infection that were so prevalent prior to his recommendations. Our own President James Garfield likely would have lived except for the infections caused by a lack of sterile surgery. The acceptance of bacteria-filled environments and the lack of awareness of what poor conditions can cause in a patient, lead Joseph Lister to realize the essential necessity of a clean, sterile surgical room and tools. Although it took over 20 years, eventually the medical community accepted his discovery, subsequently saving thousands and perhaps millions of lives over the years. It is a tribute to him that we have Listerine as a way to cleanse our mouths and wounds.
http://www.lister2012.com/joseph-lister/lord-joseph-lister/
I found his grave where he is buried with his wife and gave a moment of silence in appreciation to him for his tenacity in making a difference in the world. A principled man, he never quit trying to convince people that it was the things you cannot see, the bacteria, that are the most dangerous. As I left the cemetery, I saw many headstones with Chinese writing, Indian writing, and several languages I did not recognize. London is truly a melting pot of nationalities.
I grabbed a bus for a trip to a different tube station and suddenly realized I was on Abbey Road. We stopped at "The Intersection" famous for the Abbey Road Beatles record jacket. I imagined myself barefooted like Paul McCartney and hoped that the gravel had been swept clean for him!
Taking the tube to West Hampstead, I exited and began the walk to the cemetery. As I walked uphill through a residential area, and of course stopping at a couple of bookstores on the way, I began to reflect on the life of horn player Dennis Brain. Born in 1921, the son of horn player Aubrey Brain, Dennis began playing professionally at the age of 17. His remarkable gifts on the horn continued as he played Principal Horn with the National Symphony Orchestra and later with the Royal Philharmonic. Many well-known composers wrote works for him including Paul Hindemith, Malcolm Arnold, Benjamin Britten, Gordon Jacob, and Lennox Berkeley. Francis Poulenc composed a piece in his memory on September 2, 1957, the day after Brain was killed in an auto accident. Brain's many recordings are stellar examples of artistry and perfection, including one of if not the finest recordings of the Mozart Horn Concertos.
As a young horn player, we owned a recording of the horn concertos by Mozart and I recall sitting with my ear to the speaker and listening to the vinyl recording over and over. Dennis Brain was tragically killed in an auto accident on September 1, 1957, and I was born exactly three years later. I believe his influence over my musicianship and horn playing, due to countless hours of listening to his recordings, has continued to this day, giving me a good reason to find his grave in Hampstead Cemetery.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dennis_Brain
Arriving at the cemetery where many thousands are buried, I quickly realized it was an impossible task to find the marker for Dennis Brain without some help. I walked to the entrance but could find nobody around. Frustrated, I looked and saw a small bulletin board with some information. To my astonishment, there was a list of significant people buried in the cemetery (I know what you are thinking...everyone is significant, but you also know what I mean!) to include the two people I sought--Dennis Brain and Joseph Lister. Yet even with the help, it took me several minutes to find Dennis Brain. Faded with time and mostly covered by a flowering plant, it was with a moment of silence that I greeted the headstone and thought more about his remarkable artistry. Moving the plant aside, I read the poem by Paul Hindemith and reflected with appreciation and admiration upon the life of Dennis Brain.
My call transforms
The hall to autumn-tinted groves
What is into what
Has been....
Time to move on and find the grave of Joseph Lister. Although I have no personal stories or connection to Joseph Lister, in many ways all of us are indebted to this amazing surgeon/scientist. He introduced and pioneered sterile environments for surgery, preventing the deaths due to infection that were so prevalent prior to his recommendations. Our own President James Garfield likely would have lived except for the infections caused by a lack of sterile surgery. The acceptance of bacteria-filled environments and the lack of awareness of what poor conditions can cause in a patient, lead Joseph Lister to realize the essential necessity of a clean, sterile surgical room and tools. Although it took over 20 years, eventually the medical community accepted his discovery, subsequently saving thousands and perhaps millions of lives over the years. It is a tribute to him that we have Listerine as a way to cleanse our mouths and wounds.
http://www.lister2012.com/joseph-lister/lord-joseph-lister/
I found his grave where he is buried with his wife and gave a moment of silence in appreciation to him for his tenacity in making a difference in the world. A principled man, he never quit trying to convince people that it was the things you cannot see, the bacteria, that are the most dangerous. As I left the cemetery, I saw many headstones with Chinese writing, Indian writing, and several languages I did not recognize. London is truly a melting pot of nationalities.
I grabbed a bus for a trip to a different tube station and suddenly realized I was on Abbey Road. We stopped at "The Intersection" famous for the Abbey Road Beatles record jacket. I imagined myself barefooted like Paul McCartney and hoped that the gravel had been swept clean for him!
Sunday, April 01, 2012
LP XLIV--Coach Tour Conclusion
Back in London now for our final three weeks of this study program. We had a very successful coach tour through the United Kingdom that included a look at castles, cathedrals, museums, Wales, Scotland, the Lake District, homes, many people, and lots of great country. London now seems loud, crowded, and busy compared to our tour through the UK. But in London we have concerts, shows, museums, restaurants and coffee shops on every corner, and a public transit system to rival the best in the world. Get on a bus or tube and you can get virtually anywhere you want to go in the city.
Reflecting on our coach tour, we substantially added to our historical knowledge of the United Kingdom including Scotland and Wales. We saw flowers, mountains, hills, streams, lakes, cottages, the vast sky, stars, rocks, backpackers, hikers, and great people. Underneath the obvious, beneath the extrinsic, we gained an awareness of a beautiful world, a world of past wars, of defense and fortresses, and a world of great pleasure. We experienced moments of sanguineous relaxation contrasted with intensity and force. We stayed in some quaint and charming bed and breakfast places that served food better than we deserve, and we stayed in a rather primitive hostel right on the lake that had a bed and community bathrooms for all. We learned that other cultures are different, older than we are, richer in experiences but still filled with people. From our differences in heritage we also learned our similarities in values.
We learned that castles are real and substantial, but in comparison with our modern buildings, skyscrapers, and communities, many of them are small and insignificant. Castles served their purpose at one time and stand tall and proud on hills throughout the UK. Maybe the romance of the castle is greater than the reality, but castles are still around to remind us of a heritage that is treasured, respected and stands as a testament to the fortitude of the people as they fought against the enemies seen or unseen. Or maybe they are just dumb things that we cannot really destroy. Still...there is something about a castle with its portals for shooting crossbows, its winding staircases, its openness to the sky, its majestic power, its drawbridge and moat. All these and more draw us to castles and we imagine a time gone by with knights, kings, and long, flowing ornamented gowns. But we also imagine dungeons and beheadings and punishments for wrong-doings. Whatever the musings, castles continue to fascinate us and the United Kingdom is the ideal place for seeing castles.
This program is full of experiences and opportunities for students and teachers alike to the point of being educational beyond measure. The students are receiving exposure to ancient history, modern history, a wide variety of cultures, art, music, theatre, and many life lessons in how to live. Those coming from a comfortable environment discover that not everything is smooth and many times they must face the challenges with assertiveness and leadership. Each day brings decisions that require sound judgment, forward thinking, and life skills. Little changes that can mean so much, such as staying very alert at every intersection or learning that it costs more to stay inside the cafe while drinking a cup of coffee. Language is a bit of a barrier in England due partly to the accents but mostly to the truth that nearly 1 of 3 people is from a foreign country. Because of this, we find other ways to communicate using body language and basic common words such as toilet or coffee or water.
We learn that the arts are integral to all cultures and to divorce the arts from the experience is to remove an essential trait of the people. This is true in America as well but not as overtly as in other countries. We are shaped by our past, by our ancestor's struggles and we in turn shape future generations through our families, education, events, and experiences. Our struggles today translate to comforts of tomorrow and the cycle of challenges and rewards continues through time. The castles we build today may be obsolete tomorrow, but it is the effort and the defining of our people that propels us forward.
The busy exciting world of London in contrast to the peaceful country of Scotland demonstrates the vast array of goals and yes, propitiation to the environment that occurs throughout the world. Seeing Hadrian's Wall and the Roman Baths while checking our mobile phones for recent emails puts the progression of society in perspective, showing us that the technology of our lives is a recent phenomenon unimaginable in past generations. What will tomorrow bring for our great-great grandchildren? Walking the hills of Scotland only later to explore the museum of The Beatles shows us the eclecticism of life with all its splendor and joy. In a holistic, educational way this program has taught us to embrace all of life and, ironically, that we are but a small part of the world. In our unimportance and in our humility we also know that it is people who built the castles, the cathedrals, the galleries, people who create the shows, play the music, write the books, and plow the fields.
Our time in London is nearly done and while there are plenty of things to do, we can feel the winding down of our experiences. We miss our families and our friends, we miss the Texas sky, the space, and we are ready to return to our lives. But we return changed forever in ways that are neither discernible nor measurable, yet nevertheless real. We walked where Kings walked, we looked through portals where Knights looked, we saw the rooms where Shakespeare lived, the church where he worshiped, we opened the same gate that Charles Dickens opened, and we studied the place where Churchill stood as the bombs fell about him. We have seen the ravages of war and felt the pain of loss while respecting the sacrifices and diligence that rebuilt the cities and cathedrals. All these and more have changed us and made us better as we acknowledged the past with its greatness and significant contributions.
Reflecting on our coach tour, we substantially added to our historical knowledge of the United Kingdom including Scotland and Wales. We saw flowers, mountains, hills, streams, lakes, cottages, the vast sky, stars, rocks, backpackers, hikers, and great people. Underneath the obvious, beneath the extrinsic, we gained an awareness of a beautiful world, a world of past wars, of defense and fortresses, and a world of great pleasure. We experienced moments of sanguineous relaxation contrasted with intensity and force. We stayed in some quaint and charming bed and breakfast places that served food better than we deserve, and we stayed in a rather primitive hostel right on the lake that had a bed and community bathrooms for all. We learned that other cultures are different, older than we are, richer in experiences but still filled with people. From our differences in heritage we also learned our similarities in values.
We learned that castles are real and substantial, but in comparison with our modern buildings, skyscrapers, and communities, many of them are small and insignificant. Castles served their purpose at one time and stand tall and proud on hills throughout the UK. Maybe the romance of the castle is greater than the reality, but castles are still around to remind us of a heritage that is treasured, respected and stands as a testament to the fortitude of the people as they fought against the enemies seen or unseen. Or maybe they are just dumb things that we cannot really destroy. Still...there is something about a castle with its portals for shooting crossbows, its winding staircases, its openness to the sky, its majestic power, its drawbridge and moat. All these and more draw us to castles and we imagine a time gone by with knights, kings, and long, flowing ornamented gowns. But we also imagine dungeons and beheadings and punishments for wrong-doings. Whatever the musings, castles continue to fascinate us and the United Kingdom is the ideal place for seeing castles.
This program is full of experiences and opportunities for students and teachers alike to the point of being educational beyond measure. The students are receiving exposure to ancient history, modern history, a wide variety of cultures, art, music, theatre, and many life lessons in how to live. Those coming from a comfortable environment discover that not everything is smooth and many times they must face the challenges with assertiveness and leadership. Each day brings decisions that require sound judgment, forward thinking, and life skills. Little changes that can mean so much, such as staying very alert at every intersection or learning that it costs more to stay inside the cafe while drinking a cup of coffee. Language is a bit of a barrier in England due partly to the accents but mostly to the truth that nearly 1 of 3 people is from a foreign country. Because of this, we find other ways to communicate using body language and basic common words such as toilet or coffee or water.
We learn that the arts are integral to all cultures and to divorce the arts from the experience is to remove an essential trait of the people. This is true in America as well but not as overtly as in other countries. We are shaped by our past, by our ancestor's struggles and we in turn shape future generations through our families, education, events, and experiences. Our struggles today translate to comforts of tomorrow and the cycle of challenges and rewards continues through time. The castles we build today may be obsolete tomorrow, but it is the effort and the defining of our people that propels us forward.
The busy exciting world of London in contrast to the peaceful country of Scotland demonstrates the vast array of goals and yes, propitiation to the environment that occurs throughout the world. Seeing Hadrian's Wall and the Roman Baths while checking our mobile phones for recent emails puts the progression of society in perspective, showing us that the technology of our lives is a recent phenomenon unimaginable in past generations. What will tomorrow bring for our great-great grandchildren? Walking the hills of Scotland only later to explore the museum of The Beatles shows us the eclecticism of life with all its splendor and joy. In a holistic, educational way this program has taught us to embrace all of life and, ironically, that we are but a small part of the world. In our unimportance and in our humility we also know that it is people who built the castles, the cathedrals, the galleries, people who create the shows, play the music, write the books, and plow the fields.
Our time in London is nearly done and while there are plenty of things to do, we can feel the winding down of our experiences. We miss our families and our friends, we miss the Texas sky, the space, and we are ready to return to our lives. But we return changed forever in ways that are neither discernible nor measurable, yet nevertheless real. We walked where Kings walked, we looked through portals where Knights looked, we saw the rooms where Shakespeare lived, the church where he worshiped, we opened the same gate that Charles Dickens opened, and we studied the place where Churchill stood as the bombs fell about him. We have seen the ravages of war and felt the pain of loss while respecting the sacrifices and diligence that rebuilt the cities and cathedrals. All these and more have changed us and made us better as we acknowledged the past with its greatness and significant contributions.
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