Add Some Music To Your Day

Warning: if you are going to read this blog, then you need to be aware that I am obsessed with Brian Wilson.

I will probably be going on about him (and the Beach Boys) a lot, because my tiny brain cannot really handle how much of a genius he is, and so I regard him as a kind of demi-god. I have many musical heroes, but for me, the music Brian Wilson has created is in a different league. It has had a profound effect on my life - listening to it gives me the same feeling as you get when someone gives you some totally unexpected, fantastic, life-changing news.

So - that said, here is a great video of Brian performing live. it's kind of a perfect representation of his music, because it starts out with Surf's Up (a triumph of melody and harmony, and possibly the most beautiful of all his compositions), and it ends with a song about vegetables.

Enjoy!...

The Kindness of Strangers

I was thinking today about the series of evening appearances by visiting writers that I attended while studying English & American Literature at the University of East Anglia from 1999-2002. The prestigious reputation (if I say so myself) of UEA's School of English & American Studies gave it the chance to draw some stunning literary heavyweights to give readings and be interviewed in front of us students, right there in Lecture Theatre 1.

This is Lecture Theatre 1

Guests that I had the chance to see first-hand for only a few pounds a ticket included not just major UK-based authors like Kazuo Ishiguro, Jung Chang, and Dame Muriel Spark (authors of four of my very favourite books between them - respectively The Remains of the Day & When We Were Orphans; Wild Swans; and The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie); but also writers visiting from overseas - like Joseph Heller, and even Arthur Miller. Arthur Miller! A man who not only wrote some of the most celebrated plays of the 20th century, but who of course was also married to Marilyn Monroe - which surely is no less impressive an achievement. And this man sat down and read from his own works, was interviewed by one of my lecturers, and took questions from the audience - just so that I and my fellow students (plus some interested Norwich locals) could hear him.

Arthur Miller in conversation

It was a rare privilege (not least because Heller, Miller and Spark all died within a few years of my seeing them), and one that makes me value my time at university even more in retrospect. What a wonderful sense of community writers have - to traipse around the world sharing their talents with others for what must be pretty limited financial gain - and often ending up speaking to audiences which are frankly beneath them intellectually (a fact Joseph Heller tacitly acknowledged when the floor was thrown open to the public, by pre-empting what must depressingly be the most common questions he hears: "No I didn't have anything to do with the movie of Catch 22; Yes I liked it."). Christopher Fry was full of anecdotes about 'Larry and Vivien' and the golden age of British theatre - and at more than 90 years old he was still willing to come out and share them with us on a rainy winter's night.

I admit to falling somewhat into the trap of youth by subconsciously assuming that life would always afford me opportunities like this - taking for granted that such titans would always present themselves on my doorstep and for my entertainment and betterment - and it's only now that I look back and appreciate it fully. But I'll always have my signed copies of Catch 22, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, etc. I'll always be able to remember that when I told Muriel Spark that Brodie was one of my favourite books, she looked genuinely thrilled - as if nobody had ever said it to her before - and said "Really?" in a delighted tone, (especially gratifying from someone who had a rather legendary reputation as 'difficult', to put it tactfully). And not only do I have those memories and mementos, but these experiences contributed immeasurably to my love for literature. When I saw Joseph Heller, I had never read Catch 22 - but I soon did, and it blew my mind. When Frank McCourt (then a million-selling celebrity with the success of Angela's Ashes) told us that he hadn't started writing until late middle-age, it expanded my notions of what I could do with my life. And most impacting of all, having the chance to see and even speak to people who had so shaped the world of literature and wider culture before I was even born, went some way to helping me understand the sometimes thrilling, and sometimes terrifying, truth of Faulkner's words:

"The past is not dead. It's not even past."

Extraordinary People

These two people can really act.

I know I'm about 30 years late to the party on this one, but I just watched Ordinary People for the first time. I loved it! Having known it only as That Movie That Should Never Have Beaten Raging Bull To The Best Picture Oscar, I was really impressed by the subtlety and intricacy of the plotting, writing and acting. Unlike the American 'family dramas' that my generation grew up watching, there was no manufactured drama, no sentimentality, and definitely no pat happy ending. It was a painful but realistic portrait of a family being torn apart by an inability to communicate in the wake of two terrible (connected) events. Mary Tyler Moore was a revelation in a very unsympathetic role; and I now finally understand what all the fuss was about where Timothy Hutton was concerned. What a great performance, especially for a debut! It's a tragedy that he didn't make a better movie career for himself - just think of the performances he could have given.

Of course the down-side of all this is that it does make me a bit depressed, in a they-don't-make-them-like-this-anymore type way. It's a testament to the fact that getting major writers, directors and actors together can produce an interesting film that actually says something. When was the last time you saw a new Hollywood movie like that?...

Not this one, that's for sure...

Anyway, I'm so glad I finally got around to watching Ordinary People - on the plus side, isn't it great when you experience for the first time a film; or book; or any piece of art, that has been around for a long time - and you're moved by it? It makes me feel like there is so much more out there to discover.

"The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - that you'd thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you've never met, maybe even someone long dead. And it's as if a hand has come out, and taken yours."

Alan Bennett, 'The History Boys'

Ain't No Sunshine...

My friend Kirsty resenting the Sydney rain - October 2009

Rain in Sydney is a curious thing. It's pretty rare, and when it happens it's generally no worse than anywhere else in the world - and best of all, it doesn't usually hang around very long. But it produces a resentment in Sydneysiders (including myself) which is strangely out-of-proportion. I guess when you're spoiled with good weather (as with anything), you're bound to have a worse reaction when it's taken away, even for a short while.

From my own point of view, I think my resentment comes from having moved here all the way from London - and although the weather wasn't a particularly big factor in my re-location, I do have a subconscious sense that Sydney has a duty to live up to its reputation somewhat. I admit that I can occasionally be heard to whinge (and how Australians love to hear 'whinging poms') that "if I wanted rain I'd have stayed in London" - which is neither logical nor realistic - nor indeed, true.

Certainly, since living in Sydney I have become much more aware of how the weather affects people's moods. I'd given it lip-service acknowledgement before, but when you move to a warmer climate it really is astounding how much of an effect it has on your life. I've also noticed how true the cliché is about British people constantly talking about the weather. All I hear in the winter from my British friends on Skype, email, Facebook, etc is how miserable the weather is; then in the summer (briefly) how glorious it is. I suppose there's always something to talk about in the UK because the weather is so changeable - after the 100th straight day of sunshine in Sydney, you don't really think to mention it.

Anyway, as I'm typing these words, the Sydney rain is pattering on the window in a particularly British drizzle, and I'm trying my best not to be irritated by it. This always helps:

(Don't) Stop messin' about...

I'm reading The Kenneth Williams Diaries at the moment. He was a peculiarly British character, and his celebrity was a testament to my home nation's enduring affection for eccentrics of all types - even effete, acidic homosexuals at a time when such a thing was still illegal.

His diaries are fascinating. I was a little apprehensive before I started reading them that the day-to-day pensées of even someone as witty as Williams wouldn't hold the attention for 800+ pages, but in fact it's as gripping as any novel or autobiography. Not just his name-dropping, forthright opinions, and outrageously indiscreet anecdotes, (all of which are extremely entertaining), but also the way you can clearly map how the repression of his sexuality - even while audiences loved him for his camp extravagance - led inexorably to agonising, self-loathing, and eventually suicide.

The diaries are heartily recommended, and let's cherish all our great British eccentrics - from Tony Benn and Patrick Moore, to Brian Sewell and the Two Fat Ladies. Here's a bit of Ken in his native habitat....