Thoughts in Progress

I recently screened the 1978 movie version of Watership Down to my film club. Strange as it might sound, as I sat at the back of the room, I was the one being affected once again by the conflict in which Fiver, Hazel, Bigwig et al find themselves.

Watership Down is the sort of story that invites multiple readings. This is the tale of nervous rabbit Fiver’s vision of destruction and horror. He manages to convince his brother Hazel and others to leave their warren in order to find a safer home. Their journey is nothing but a peril-ridden adventure. Some of my young charges found a few scenes pretty upsetting.

To me, watching the movie now as an adult, Watership Down symbolises the loss of an identity, human rather than leporid. Roughly half an hour into the film the rabbits are offered shelter in a warren ruled by upper-class-sounding Cowslip. By way of thanking their hosts for their hospitality, Hazel prompts his friend Dandelion to tell a story. The latter chooses the tale of smart El-ahrairah and how he tricks the King Darzin into handing over his lettuce. In the film version the story is never told. Instead Cowslip’s response to Dandelion’s offer is blunt and rather rude, in stark contrast with his earlier politeness. El-ahrairah means nothing to him and his fellow rabbits. He goes on to recite a poem whose main message is that of passivity and being led.

It is clear that for Cowslip the old stories do not matter much. I see parallels between the rabbit’s attitude and the lives we live now. Our human existence has long been underpinned by a system of strong moral values, common to all, regardless of nationality, gender, race, creed or any other identity marker. When they work, these values serve as stable road signs, guiding us through the equivalent of a complicated and labyrinthine traffic grid. When we ignore or misread the signs, we collide with one another, causing damage to others and ourselves in the process.

We are shaped not only by our individual characteristics but also by the communities in which we live. When we lose the power to tell our common story we also lose part of what defines us as humans. No matter to what degree our communities evolve – and they have done a lot, throughout the centuries – at the centre of them there should still be a common shared story.

This is the tale that Dandelion wants to tell but he is not allowed to. Cowslip’s warren, like many others, has lost their common shared story. Their individuality has given way to individualism, a pernicious off-shoot of our complex personalities.

Of course, watching Watership Down also made me think of the current political scene in the UK. Not that Richard Adams would have wanted his creation to be seen as a political allegory. But, we do have a general election next week, Thursday 8^th June. Much has been said about the current state of British politics and how it has bred apathy and disengagement. But there is a clear choice for the electorate in my view: on the one hand, that of our common shared story (a free NHS, fair funding for schools and opportunities for small and medium business) and on the other hand, unfettered individualism, the loss of community and the abandonment of our common human story. While Cowslip is asking “Where are you going, stream?” and wants to be taken by it “away in the starlight”, Hazel and co. are already in the process of making a better life for the whole warren. All the time, they are still telling the story of El-ahrairah and how he tricked King Darzin into handing over his lettuce. This is the strong and stable narrative I crave as a human being. Not the robotic, predictable, lifeless and dull individualism that presents itself as the future. Any future we build will still need stories to be told.



© 2017

Next Post: “Let’s Talk About…”, to be published on Wednesday 7^th June at 6pm (GMT)

Road Songs (Special Edition)

If roads were stick insects, I would not be a driver. Give me a fleshy, curvaceous motorway and I am a happy man, turn it into a size zero paved surface and I will be hanging my car keys forever and ever.

A bend doth a road make. The way this man-made, asphaltic curve winds and wraps itself around the landscape is the reason why I love being behind the wheel so much. It is also the reason why I derive a greater pleasure from driving around the British countryside than in urban London. The streets in my adopted city are too narrow and even broad avenues that arch left or rightwards lack the necessary angular space to enjoy the manouevring around a particular bend.

And the most important element of this peculiar and, possibly, whimsical fancy of mine is the synergy between braking, the bend as such and my hands holding the wheel. The first was analysed in detail here, the second one is the subject of this post tonight and the third one will be discussed in another column very soon.

When you find yourself behind the wheel, steering your car on a long, flat piece of tarmac, at some point your brain begins to beg for a change. That's where bends, chiefly conspicuous ones, come into play. Brake slowly, shift into a lower gear as you go around and let your hands slide on either side of the wheel. Bliss.

In music, too, I love this symbiosis between tempo, musicianship and creativity. And I will use the examples below to illustrate the relationship between road bends and musical ones.

My first clip is by Maestro Astor Piazzolla performing a song that is as rhythmically exquisite as it is curvaceously adorable. Here the bandoneon is the simile to that stretch of road that meanders and zigzags whilst the violin and piano represent the foot on the gas pedal. Touching.



The second clip is by The Beatles and it is also a timeless tune, 'A Day In the Life'. It, too, is my favourite song from their renowned "Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" album and no, this is not the official video. In fact there's a disclaimer on the author's profile on youtube that reads thus: 'Beatle clips I put together to "A Day in the Life". I made the picture at the end too. I've been noticing that some sites have been using my video and I would like to say that although I like the idea of my video being liked it is not the original.' And you could certainly believe that this clip was the work of John, Paul, George and Ringo, couldn't you? Such a good quality.

'A Day In the Life' is actually two songs in one. Apparently Lennon finished writing the first part and spoke to Paul about finding a filler for the second section. The latter had scribbled another melody and agreed to add it to John's bit. The result is the union of scattered pieces of news and domestic life. John's view can be interpreted as the sum of disparate world and regional events. Paul's is mundaness at its best. And you notice that at 2:17 (clip below) when McCartney's part kicks in. To me it is the equivalent of driving through the Dartford crossing en route to Kent. There's the bend curving seductively upwards and then downwards, the barrier that separates the metropolis from the countryside, order vs freedom. As an addendum, let me tell you that the Dartford crossing is not always that romantic. In fact, it is a nightmare most of the time, but last summer it provided me with one of those priceless moments when, queue-free, I cruised downhill with Nina Simone on the car stereo belting out 'I Put a Spell on You' and if there's a more magical and serendipitous moment, I'd be glad to hear about it. On a postcard, please. And handwritten, nobody writes cards by hand anymore.

But I digress. Sorry. 'A Day in the Life' is a monster of a road song that symbolises bends at their most beautiful and chaotic, like that middle section. Genius.



Last but not least an artist who has been featured four times on this blog in less than three months. Some people might be wondering whether I have suddenly become a Billy Joel freak or if I'm being paid by his record company to upload his music. No, it has all been very fortuitous. There was that link to his song 'The Stranger' because the post in which the track appeared was related to whistling, then there was his song 'Vienna' used as one of my Sunday clips. A couple of weeks ago I confessed to being bowled over by the lyrics of his timeless 'New York State of Mind' and I now I bring you 'Scenes from an Italian Restaurant'. All this has been rather accidental, not intentional. In the song below, the road bend is symbolised by the changes at 1:41 and at 2:44. The first one is a smooth shift from a higher gear to a lower one, as the car effortlessly moves uphill, zigzagging carefully, whereas the second one is akin to going down and around a pretty bend at full speed, window open, wind massaging your temples. And by the way she is having a ball, isn't she? And so is the saxophonist. What do you mean who is 'she'? She, at 2:42; 2:59; 3:57; 4:08 and 5:01. Have you been paying attention? Anyway, what I would like to know is, what were you doing in the summer of '75? Going steady like Brenda and Eddy or driving around and enjoying road bends? Thanks and enjoy.



Copyright 2010

Next Post: 'Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music' to be published on Sunday 17th January at 10am (GMT)

Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music, Ad Infinitum...

I admit that when I first cooked this dish I realised too late that I was missing two valuable ingredients: spring onions and shell-on raw prawns. I did have peeled prawns, though, but it was not the same. Since then I have made amends and now I can vouch for this recipe's delicious taste. And my favourite bit, besides eating it, of course? The aroma whilst it's cooking. It's just superb. And yes, it's yet another Nigel Slater's recipe. This blog, and this section in particular, is a fervent follower of Nigel Slater. The full description below has been copied and pasted from his regular column in The Observer newspaper, a publication for which he has written for sixteen years.

Prawns with Sichuan peppercorns and spring onions

2 fresh hot red chillies
a tsp Sichuan peppercorns
a large pinch of sugar
2 tsp of finely minced (or very finely chopped) ginger
4 cloves of garlic
6 spring onions
6 tbsp groundnut oil
400g large, shell-on raw prawns

Halve the chillies, scrape out the seeds, chop the flesh finely, and put into a small bowl. Put the peppercorns into a non-stick frying pan and toast for a minute or two until fragrant. Tip them out and grind to a fine powder using a spice mill or a pestle and mortar. Add to the chillies with the sugar, minced ginger and a teaspoon of sea salt.

Peel and finely chop the garlic. Trim the spring onions and chop them into fine pieces then add, with the garlic, to the chillies.

Pour the oil into a wok and get it smoking hot. Lower in the prawns and let them cook for a minute, then lift them out with a draining spoon. Add the chilli mixture to the wok and stir it round for a minute or less as it sizzles, so it does not burn.

Return the prawns to the pan, continue cooking for a couple of minutes, then serve immediately and eat while hot and peppery.

The music I selected to go with this dish is also full of aromas. Give me Azam Ali's voice any time. It brings much solace and warmth to my soul, just like this dish.

Cassandra Wilson's take on this Bob Marley's classic is, in my humble opinion, a classic itself.

Frank Black, who is one of the few performers I have heard doing an excellent version of 'Dirty Old Town', regales us a tune that burns your insides in the same way those chillies and ginger seethe on the pan.

And last but not least, a good old tango, because whenever I'm cooking a simple dish as the one above I have simple but deep music on in the background. And Astor Piazzolla is one of those artists who is capable of bringing the full flavour of music to any song he performs, just like spring onions and garlic. Enjoy.

Next post: 'Song for a Summer Sunday Morning' to be published on Sunday 14th June at 10am (GMT)

Autumn Songs (1st Mov 'Andante', 2nd Mov 'Lento', 3rd Mov 'Andante' 4th Mov 'Lento'

As this unique palette of red, yellow and orange falls upon us and the sun dyes its hair a camp auburn, the music that mostly calls to me now is tango. A good old milonga from Uruguay or Argentina that carries with it the echoes of its Bantu ancestry. The term milonga comes from this African language and it translates as 'lyrics'. But words are not needed where music reigns supreme and this is the case with the first clip.

Astor Piazzolla was the indisputed 'King of the bandoneon' in Argentine, his birthplace. He transformed 'tango', incorporating elements from jazz and classical music. And it's because of his importance as a musician, composer and bandleader that I would like to open this week's Autumn Songs session with a clip of him playing one of his most famous pieces, 'Libertango'.

My second clip comes all the way from Portugal. Because we already have tango (see above), bolero and bossa nova in Latin America, it took me longer to understand and appreciate 'fado', that musical lament from that Iberian country that best conveys the word 'saudade; the one term I've asked countless Brazilians and Portuguese alike to translate to me into Spanish and/or English and which every single one of them have failed to do. And when you listen to 'fado' you understand why. So, no more explanations. Here's one of the better ambassadors of 'fado' nowadays.

Next up is a band that defies conventions. Those who want to package them up into a little chill-out bundle will have problems doing so as their latest album shows. This clip is from their first record and it always reminds me of the place we go to in Spain every year, up in the mountains near Granada. It brings back memories of early chilly October mornings watching my children playing with the two local cats whilst my wife and I have our breakfast in the front garden. Pomegranates drop to the ground and their splash creates a whole rainbow of reddish hues, incapable of being re-created by hand, expert painter notwithstanding.

Lastly, where would autumn be without a piano? Just like Astor's bandoneon, the piano is autumn's instrument par excellence. Little did Chopin know that when he wrote his Etude in E Op 10 'Tristesse' it would become the schmaltzy karaoke hit 'So Deep is the Night' belted out by drunkards in places like Blackpool. But here on this blog we like quality and therefore I have a lovely performance of this timeless autumn number for you my fellow readers/bloggers/posters.

And this is all for today. I hope you enjoyed this week's selection.

Copyright 2007