Showing posts with label Sting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sting. Show all posts

Saturday, 9 December 2017

Thoughts in Progress


Claude Monet, one of the pioneers of impressionism, was said to have been struck by London’s ever-changing weather when he alighted in the British capital in 1870. He was especially attracted to the metropolis’ combination of fog and light. On subsequent trips he managed to translate these two elements into a series of paintings of London’s bridges, the Houses of Parliament and the river Thames.

One of the more famous ones, The Thames Below Westminster, has become the go-to image to show Monet’s fascination with London. Shrouded in mist, the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Bridge emerge in the distance as a ghostly vision, one that contrasts heavily with the more colourful and dynamic foreground.

Living across the seat of British democracy gave Monet a unique insight into what London in the 19th century was like. Traffic on Westminster Bridge at the time, both pedestrian and carriage-led, must have been heavy. After all, one of the reasons to build the bridge was to serve as a link between the expanding West End and fast-growing south London. Up to then, commuters and visitors were forced to use alternative routes, such as the Strand and New Oxford Street. Westminster Bridge, upon opening on 18th November 1750, elicited glowing praise like this comment, from The Gentleman’s Magazinea very great ornament to our metropolis, and will be looked on with pleasure or envy by all foreigners.” Truer words have never been written. On any given day, nowadays, Westminster Bridge is always full of families, tourists, or just politicians taking a break from parliamentary duties.

It was on this bridge, sadly, that Kent-born, 52-year-old Khalid Masood (né Adrian Ajao), decided to carry out his heinous terrorist attack on Wednesday 22nd March of this year. He drove a car into pedestrians, killing three, two instantly and one later on in hospital. Once he crashed his vehicle outside parliament, he tried to enter the building armed with two knives stabbing fatally a police officer in the process.

Monet took inspiration from London’s foggy weather to create his masterpieces. Terrorists’ main intention – whether the Daesh-inspired or the white supremacist type – is to create a mist-like, blurred, hazy vision of unimaginable panic. Perpetrators like Khalid know that they have not got a chance in hell to turn their hate-filled philosophy into a viable political alternative. Hence, their “amateur”, but devastating, modus operandi.

The entire area around Westminster Bridge has changed a great deal since Monet walked its streets more than a century ago. It is no longer just a place to go through in order to get to south London, but an almost essential photo-op stop (the mud-coloured Thames offers a fabulous background) before purchasing a souvenir at one of the stalls nearby. Westminster Bridge and its surroundings are often so packed with pedestrians and cyclists (the East-West cycle superhighway takes in part of the Embankment) that it makes sense to use the road instead, despite the obvious dangers.

In trying to mow down those he saw as infidels, Khaled might have ended up killing fellow Muslims. The paradox of this new kind of terrorism the West has faced for the last sixteen years is that it is nothing new in Muslim nations where the number of victims murdered by extremists is far higher.

If Khaled had ventured “sarf” of the river and driven down York Road, he would have come across a couple of Italian restaurants and two or three Indian-themed ones. At any time of the day or night, these establishments are crowded with punters. Punters who come from all corners of the globe. This is what terrorists are up against. It is not just a way of life that refuses to be defeated, but also a two-finger-up attitude that whatever flaws London has (and there are many), we, Londoners from here, there and everywhere, love our city the way it is. Warts (plenty) and all.

Of course, the sheer volume of visitors London attracts (9.98m visits from January to June according to the VisitBritain website) makes the city an obvious target for a terrorist attack. This is the reason why most of us, city-dwellers, have adopted a mindset that has more in common with the famous “Keep Calm and Carry On” World War II slogan than with the panic terrorists are intent on spreading.

It is interesting, albeit not surprising, that Monet, who was inspired by London’s dreamy, hazy, misty autumn weather, is getting his own exhibition at the National Gallery next year. His art has defied the passing of time. On the other hand, we have a terror-spreading individual whose actions, whilst costing the lives of some, were repudiated instantly. Nobody will remember Adrian Ajao’s name in five years’ time. In attempting to paint our lives in fog-coloured textures, Khalid became what the Houses of Parliament emerged as in Monet’s The Thames Below Westminster: a ghostly and fast-disappearing vision.



© 2017

Sunday, 8 August 2010

Greatest Hits - Track 8

'Autumn Songs' was a short-lived section I introduced in 2007. It ran from September until November, halted by the arrival of winter. I had fun writing about one of my two favourite seasons (the other one is spring) and as the temperature feels already slightly nippy in the mornings, I thought it appropriate to include this post in my 'Greatest Hits' volume 1. Yes, I'm still on holidays.


With autumn now on the verge of becoming winter and my synaesthesia producing only dark reds and yellows whenever I hear the soft rustle of a well-played guitar, I open this session with one of the most under-rated singers this country has ever produced. When I purchased her debut album my DiscMan would not let it go away for a single minute. Martina Topley-Bird's voice can be soulful, rocky and playful, sometimes the three at once. My favourite song from her record 'Quixotic' is not available on you tube yet (Soul Food), but I found this little gem that attests to her wonderful voice.



And so, we plough on. And so we arrive at the majestic erstwhile The Police frontman, Sting (reunions count, but only as money-makers) and a dilemma as to which song to choose from his prolific music career. You see, I'm a Sting fan. I've seen 'Bring on the Night' approximately twenty times and I can quote some of the dialogues by heart. But nothing prepared me for the second track on his album 'Brand New Day'. The inclusion of the Algerian raï isinger Cheb Mami was a wise move for the northeastern bassist and the result, 'Desert Rose' helped internationalise raï sounds, plus catapulted the song to the top of the charts. And I just love it. Really. I do.



Lastly, this man's voice drips with pastel shades, yellow chromes and nostalgie. Ignacio Villa (Bola de Nieve), our very own show-man, was born in the legendary town of Guanabacoa, Havana, a hotbed of Afro-Cuban culture and one of the first few places where the Carabalí culture from southeastern Nigeria settled down and created its first cabildos, thus becoming the Abakuás, the only surviving secret African society in the Americas. Bola's voice was seductive, mirthful and full of joie de vivre, even when singing sad songs like the one below. The video is a collection of photos of him rather than a performance, but still that voice is incomparable.



As autumn is drawing to a close, I've been thinking about doing a similar series of winter songs. Just do not expect Christmas tunes. Thanks for your feedback, it's always appreciated.

© 2007

Next Post: Greatest Hits - Track 9 to be posted on Sunday 15th August at 10am (GMT)

Sunday, 21 June 2009

Song for a Summer Sunday Morning - Let Your Soul Be Your Pilot by Sting

Well, we had a cover version last week, how about having the master himself singing one of those uplifting tunes that make you want to slide back the roof of your car, roll down your windows and shout out: 'Yes, I am alive and I am glad to be alive!'

Next Post: 'Killer Opening Songs (Johann Sebastian Bach)' to be published on Tuesday 23rd June at 11:59pm

Wednesday, 21 January 2009

Killer Opening Songs (Sting - A Thousand Years)


You get home at the end of a hard-working day. You remove your shoes, take your clothes off, put some music on and make a beeline for the bathroom to have a cold/hot shower (depending on which part of the hemisphere you live). As the water runs down your body you find yourself singing at the top of your lungs to the chorus of a Killer Opening Song.

Imagine that you come out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around your midriff or upper body depending on your gender. And you find that Killer Opening Song spreadeagled on your bed. It's bathing you in its sexy stare, its hair remaining still whilst the wind caresses the curtains of your bedroom wildly. You remove the rectangular piece of absorbent cloth from your (insert body part here) and the Killer Opening Song, still in bed, still staring at you, beckons you over.

Have you ever made love to a Killer Opening Song? Have you ever canoodled with an Introductory Album Track?

In case you haven't, let me tell you what it feels like:

Your heart makes a funny sound; a rapid succession of light beats or taps, like rain. You, curiously, feel liberated, strange, though, you never felt imprisoned before. This is music that sneaks into your brain under the door. This is a song that fills you with glee, it makes you jump high in the air and execute a split mid-flight. This is a K.O.S. that casts a spell on you and for days, sometimes weeks, to come you will be in its sole company. Musical promiscuity is a big no-no. This is a tune that causes a mild outburst of OCD (Obssessive Compulsion Disorder) in you. From now on, your regular walk to work, your commute on the train, your meals even, will be dictated by this track's duration. 3:53; 4:02; 3:20. They are numbers to others, they are magical digits to you.

Moreover, this is a song that sends you straight to the album's lyrics section.

A thousand years, a thousand more/A thousand times a million doors to eternity/I may have lived a thousand lives, a thousand times/An endless turning stairway climbs/To a tower of souls/If it takes another thousand years, a thousand wars/The towers rise to numberless floors in space/I could shed another million tears, a million breaths/A million names but only one truth to face/A million roads, a million fears/A million suns, ten million years of uncertainty/I could speak a million lies, a million songs/A million rights, a million wrongs in this balance of time/But if there was a single truth, a single light/A single thought, a singular touch of grace/Then following this single point , this single flame/The single haunted memory of your face/I still love you/I still want you.

Notice the simplicity and yet, oh, the beauty of this Killer Opening Song. Thousands vs single, million vs one. The dichotomy that lies within us, humans. We're a tiny particle, we're that single, minute, Lilliputian particle in the midst of many, thousands, millions, and yet... I still love you, says the singer.

Gordon Matthew Thomas Sumner has written many a fine Killer Opening Songs before but with this 1999 outing, Brand New Day, he took pop music to another level. Sting found fame with the British band The Police in the late 70s and early 80s and when he decided to become a solo artist after the trio disbanded, many thought (and hoped) his career would falter. It has luckily turned out to be the opposite and he has confounded his critics time and time again with albums full of cross-cultural forays. Enjoy.

And before I forget, the question again: Have you ever made love to a Killer Opening Song before?



Copyright 2009

Saturday, 12 January 2008

Road Songs (Lacrimosa)


Writing about rain in London is an oxymoron. That much I know. A landscape that in winter is draped mainly in different shades of grey coupled with rising levels of humidity might not be an obvious topic to write about when discussing songs to listen to whilst driving. But as you well know this column defies logic and dogmas.

There was a time when I was afraid to go out driving if it was raining. This takes me back several years when I was still learning how to drive. Whenever the sky got darker and a group of cumulonimbus was discernible on the horizon my first reaction was to get on the phone to my instructor and ask him, in a voice barely disguising my angst, whether we would still be going out for our lesson. The reply on all occasions was resolute and firm: Yes.

Fast-forward to the present-day and that anxiety is almost gone. I cannot say that I enjoy driving in the rain as it is highly perilous and you can easily lose control of your vehicle. But at least I try to make the most of it. And music usually helps.

My first track is rain-themed, by the way. And that is because this natural phenomenon, so essential to us and other living organisms, can also fast-track you to nostalgia, that bittersweet longing for the past. And this is a tear-jerker, especially to us, Latins. This song was and I think still is very popular in Cuba because it manages to convey passion and commitment in a few lines. Excellent.


As I cruise the streets of London in my car whilst it is pouring down outside the wipers on my windshield enter a strange relationships with other cars wipers. Their rhythmic 'splish-splosh' motion resembles the bows in the hands of expert violinists and when you are stuck in a set of traffic lights, or waiting to move off in a roundabout, it seems to me that a whole orchestra of windshield wipers have taken over the city and delivered their own perfect symphony. And then this melody comes into my mind. Mozart's swansong, which, unfortunately, he never got to finish. Touching.


One's relationship with rain can be a love-hate affair. All those wet roads, the risk of accidents and the lack of visibility are not hurdles to laugh at. In the same way some partnerships in real life can and do, indeed, turn out that way. This singer's husky voice cannot conceal the pain of
what she is going through. When I first heard her I was captivated by her voice and to this day her debut album remains my favourite record by her. Poignant.
The delicacy with which the following piece is executed reminds me of the rainbows formed when it stops raining. And the other day I was lucky to see a humungous one from my office window. Hmmm... yes, I was not driving at the moment. Sorry for cheating. But when I was researching the music to put on the blog in this week's column I could not help thinking about the miracle of rain-followed-by-rainbow. It is Nature, the watercolour painter, at its best and this singer is an example of that phenomenon in music. Marvellous.
And this is all for this week. I sincerely do hope it stops raining soon, but in the meantime I'll continue to enjoy the symphonic splish-splosh sounds of my windshield wipers. I hope you do, too.
Copyright 2007

Wednesday, 7 November 2007

Autumn Songs (Tempo Commodo)


With autumn now on the verge of becoming winter and my synaesthesia producing only dark reds and yellows whenever I hear the soft rustle of a well-played guitar, I open this session with one of the most under-rated singers this country has ever produced. When I purchased her debut album my DiscMan would not let it go away for a single minute. Martina Topley-Bird's voice can be soulful, rocky and playful, sometimes the three at once. My favourite song from her record 'Quixotic' is not available on you tube yet (Soul Food), but I found this little gem that attests to her wonderful voice.



And so, we plough on. And so we arrive at the majestic erstwhile The Police frontman, Sting (reunions count, but only as money-makers) and a dilemma as to which song to choose from his prolific music career. You see, I'm a Sting fan. I've seen 'Bring on the Night' approximately twenty times and I can quote some of the dialogues by heart. But nothing prepared me for the second track on his album 'Brand New Day'. The inclusion of the Algerian raï isinger Cheb Mami was a wise move for the northeastern bassist and the result, 'Desert Rose' helped internationalise raï sounds, plus catapulted the song to the top of the charts. And I just love it. Really. I do.



Lastly, this man's voice drips with pastel shades, yellow chromes and nostalgie. Ignacio Villa (Bola de Nieve), our very own show-man, was born in the legendary town of Guanabacoa, Havana, a hotbed of Afro-Cuban culture and one of the first few places where the Carabalí culture from southeastern Nigeria settled down and created its first cabildos, thus becoming the Abakuás, the only surviving secret African society in the Americas. Bola's voice was seductive, mirthful and full of joie de vivre, even when singing sad songs like the one below. The video is a collection of photos of him rather than a performance, but still that voice is incomparable.



As autumn is drawing to a close, I've been thinking about doing a similar series of winter songs. Just do not expect Christmas tunes. Thanks for your feedback, it's always appreciated.

© 2007

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