My youngest son, William Chapman, who is now 12, has been attending the Jackie Palmer Stage School in High Wycombe since he was about 4 years old. He has learnt a great deal in his time there, and whilst he doesn’t enjoy singing and dancing so much now he’s a teenager, he is passionate about acting and drama.
At Madame Tussauds with Daniel Craig, aka James Bond.
Over the years he has attended many auditions, and I have a few stories to tell there…
The most notable one was when he went for the part of Alfie in ‘May Contain Nuts’ the ITV two part drama adaptation of John O’Farrell’s satirical book. I remember Emily was only about four months old at the time, and because it was in West London I drove rather than taking the mainline train to Marylebone (which is what we always do for central London locations). This was a mistake. I was running late, (as usual), and I couldn’t find anywhere to park. I was worried that Will might miss his slot so I parked on double yellow lines, thinking we’d only be a few minutes.
Mostly, it’s a whole lot of travelling for ten minutes in with the casting director – if you are lucky; but this day it was a bit more involved so we were there longer than usual. I was mainly concerned with making sure my infant daughter didn’t bawl the place out!
William was only about 5 then, and unburdened by the nerves he can sometimes suffer from these days. He seemed to relax and thoroughly enjoy himself. We left and went back into the road, and walked to where I parked the car; only there was no car. With my car gone, and the kids in tears, I ran back into the casting agency and became somewhat hysterical. They were brilliant; they called Westminster Council and established where my car had been taken, then called me a taxi to get there. I had to walk along the most massive underground car park in Mayfair carrying a baby in a car seat with a 5 and 9 year old wailing and moaning beside me. I duly paid the £250 to get my car back and drove home. As you can image the air was somewhat blue inside my mind!
When I look at him sitting in the car seat he looks so young and blond! Here he is in part 1 with his pretend family: mum Shirley Henderson, dad, Darren Boyd, and siblings Bebe Cave and Andrew Byrne:
I also remember another more recent occasion when I took Will, Max and Ruby (who was also only a few months old at the time), up to central London for an audition. We visited Hamleys on our way back but while we were inside the store it began to snow. Heavily. When we struggled through the throngs of Christmas shoppers and emerged onto Regent Street we were faced with blizzard conditions and rush hour. By the time our train pulled into High Wycombe station the whole country had virtually ground to a halt under the white onslaught, and nobody could get their cars out of the station car park. I had visions of us sleeping over night in a freezing car, or making a kind of arctic expedition on foot, which I didn’t relish with a cold and hungry baby. I think it was about midnight by the time we eventually got home with a little help from our family.
He’s done some varied work over the years: radio, commercials, children’s TV, Panto (Snow White) at the Swan Theatre, filming & photo shoots for Oxford University Press, Breathless and May Contain Nuts on ITV and BBC Learning.
I finally persuaded him to write a brief account of his recent filming as an ‘extra’ (tribal kid), on the Warner Bros. summer blockbuster for 2015, Pan.
Working as an extra in Pan is amazing; it’s such an awesome experience! But it’s hard work though, ten hour days plus one hour journeys each way to the studios. It was very tiring. I normally had a 6.45am start at the rendezvous, where we travelled by minibus to Cardington Studios in Bedfordshire.
Luckily we always had a warm welcome and a warm breakfast to wake us up. Costume fitting and makeup took about an hour, but it was good to admire all the costumes.
Arrgghh! Tutoring! This was next in my day. Tutoring could be fun though, and so it was a lot more enjoyable than school. One time we did a huge planned court case which was really interesting. Sometimes we didn’t go on set but on this day we did.
Once on set we were sheltering from the pirates under the ship’s floorboards and we had to be terrified! Our chief gets shot by Blackbeard (Hugh Jackman), so remember to look out for that scene if you watch the movie.
After lunch we just did more tutoring then we went back on set for a retake of the earlier scene, but we were lucky enough to meet and say hi to Hugh Jackman! We gave him a high five, awesome right?
Well, that’s my day as an extra.
It was great to collect him at the end of a busy day, and hear him enthuse about a multitude of impressions such as: exploding mud, the energy of being on set, watching the actors practising their sword fighting skills, the delicious meals they had for lunch, meeting other young actors from a few other stage schools, including Levi Miller who plays Peter Pan.
It has been a wonderful experience for him. For most of June and some of July he was filming (about 15 days), so I’m hoping it won’t be a case of blink and you’ll miss him when I get to see it! It’s due for release on 26th June 2015, I can’t wait…
“I won’t tell you that the world matters nothing, or the world’s voice, or the voice of society. They matter a good deal. They matter far too much. But there are moments when one has to choose between living one’s own life, fully, entirely, completely—or dragging out some false, shallow, degrading existence that the world in its hypocrisy demands. You have that moment now. Choose!” ~ Oscar Wilde
It’s a curious thing, choice. So many choices, so little time…
Life could be compared to a game of chess; which is said to have as many possible moves as there are atoms in the universe. When I read that staggering statistic it changed my perception of the game. It could be said that in each moment of our existence we have a similar array of responses and decisions and thoughts to contend with, along with the consequences of said choices. Which way do we go?
Freedom isn’t free. There is always a price for choosing a particular set of beliefs, to how we conduct ourselves, the friends and partners we share our lives with; from the outer enemies and inner demons we do battle with. It’s called Karma. In theory, wise choices result in beneficial outcomes, not just for ourselves, but also the world around us. The not so inspired choices serve as fodder for learning: for looking back at our lives and understanding where we strayed from our source. Looking back in hindsight at our more torpid and turbid moments will lead us to navigate clearer, more erudite ones.
Personally, I have found many of my profoundest growth moments (the ones that lead to intense suffering and hard times), were the catalysts for the most positive changes in my life. It was all about overcoming; digging deep and finding that indefatigable spirit that had taken a battering from the world, and accepting my part in it. Once we accept responsibility for our choices it frees us to make mistakes and pursue our happiness with more awareness.
Dr. David R Hawkins on taking a fearless inner inventory / taking responsibility:
Someone once said: the furthest distance any of us have to travel is the six inches between our ears. We create and co-create everything. There is nothing that exists outside of Self.
We are all the authors of our own life story, choosing our characters, creating the plot (or losing the plot!); literally making it up as we go along. Will it be a thriller? A tale of crime? A sweeping love affair? A comedy perhaps? Those who get bored with the same genre may have had a mixture of all of the above! And the axiom write what you know tends to lend itself to our personal fiction.
You might say we can’t choose our circumstances or our family. To some degree that is true, we all have a certain hand dealt us at birth. We may have been blessed with loving parents in a peaceful country, or at the other end of the extreme as orphans in a war zone. Having rich parents and a comfortable life does not always make for the happiest of people. Others manage to escape the gang culture they have become embroiled in in their youth. The ones that didn’t accept their circumstances were the ones that chose a different set of circumstances. All we can do is make the best of our raw materials.
“Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting, heaven lies about us in our infancy.” ~ William Wordsworth.
As babies, we are innocence and love personified, each a blank canvas, where the background is first painted on by our parents. From there, layers of experience and meaning are gradually woven into our masterpiece, sometimes forcefully and suddenly by a traumatic experience. We are all scarred to some degree by our past. This is how we form our own personal map of reality. The way we assimilate our experiences is what makes us who we are, what shapes our personality. But we can’t blame our childhood for everything.
We can take a knife for instance, we can either choose to butter a piece of toast or stab someone. Likewise we can decide how to react when someone offends us. Looking deeper at what the world throws at us, we might see it is a reflection of us. If we have an issue with authority then we may come into contact with a person who is highly controlling for example.
I now make an effort to take a more balanced view of such individuals who try my good will. It can be challenging to suspend one’s judgement, but it’s also quite liberating. Don’t take life personally. It takes awareness to practise compassion and understanding, (this is an ongoing and not entirely successful endeavour for me), to see past the person with their undesirable behaviour, and into the human being underneath, essentially another sentient being who feels and has emotions much the same as I do. It’s just that they have chosen a different path, based on their unique experiences. The blame game won’t solve anything.
The souls that we feel the most affinity with perhaps share similar beliefs to us, but the souls who challenge us the most are the ones who do not share the same beliefs and values, and who have made radically different choices. But what none of us can escape from, is that our choice of thoughts affect our beliefs, which ultimately determine our actions, and, interwoven with the actions of others around us come results. Good or bad, it all comes down to choice.
Whilst we cannot force the choices of others, (as the saying goes: someone convinced against his will, is of the same opinion still), but we can however, choose to follow Gandhi’s advice, and be the good we wish to see in the world. Make choices that others might aspire to. In these uncertain times humanity needs our collective souls to step up to the plate.
Be still, and listen to your heart. May you choose to believe the best about yourself and make inspired choices!
I’ve chosen to finish with a poem. The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost:
Andalucia has many distinctive attributes in summer. First, there’s the heat; unrelenting, oven-like and intense. Then there’s the sweet, dry scent; that wonderful evocative smell, carried on the breeze, a mingling of salty ocean droplets, lemon groves, pines and dusty mountain air. It’s fuller and headier at night. The Cicadas contribute a constant roar, as millions of wings rub instantaneously providing nature’s soundtrack to accompany the rugged mountain and coastal scenery of the Costa del Sol.
Forest Hills, our home for the week, nestled into the foot of the Sierra de las Nieves at Estepona, and resembled a small Moorish Citadel clinging to the hillside. Our spacious apartment had a lovely large terrace that overlooked the coast on one side, and the mountains on the other. Most days the heat haze obscured the Rock of Gibraltar, but on our last day the wind freshened and changed direction, and we could clearly see the British enclave and the mountains of Morocco across the narrow stretch of the Mediterranean Sea.
The Spanish coast along the The Strait of Gibraltar often gets a battering from strong winds, and the day we visited Cristo Beach a hot dry wind from the Sahara whipped up the sand in our faces. The two types of winds we experienced are known locally as the easterly Levante and its westerly counterpart, the Poniente.
Quieter and less touristy than neighbouring Marbella, Estepona is a pretty coastal town that boasts a beautiful long beach with an immaculate esplanade and a smart marina with plenty of eateries. On the morning we went sailing it was cool and cloudy (much to our amazement), and as our yacht for the trip, Intrepido, left the harbour (the sails were up but we needed power as the sea was like a millpond), we embarked on our two hour mini-cruise in search of Flipper as we headed towards the hazy horizon.
After a bit of moaning about the cold air and lack of sightings my girls perked up as we were soon visited by a small pod. Imagine our delight as a mother and young one surfaced near the bow. The sound of their exhalations was exhilarating! We were soon joined by about three more inquisitive visitors. The sea was clear and still, we could see them darting under the front of the yacht, the light reflecting off their silvery skin just beneath the surface of the water.
I took hundreds of pictures, but they were so fast (even when jumping out of the water), that by the time my camera had clicked there was just a ruffled patch of water showing on my screen. Luckily I had two decent pictures to show for my efforts. Throughout the encounter Emily and Ruby were ecstatic. It was a very special environment in which to see these playful and lithe creatures. The skipper let the girls have a go at steering too, it was so sweet to see them showing him their right from left, but they didn’t quite progress onto port and starboard…
Afterwards we had lunch at La Pintoresca. Located at Pantalan 5 on the Marina, just behind the Real Club Nautico building, it’s a delightful tapas restaurant run by the friendly and welcoming Jacob. Nothing was too much trouble, and he served us fresh, mouth-watering delights that made for a memorable meal. The small swallows in the palm tree by the balcony watched us intently and the occasional boat left the harbour. If you are ever in the area I can thoroughly recommend his establishment. Even my daughter Emily who has been known to be a tad fussy was raving about the food we ate!
Some days are special. Friday 1st August was one such day for us. We are normally game for an adventure, and Monte Aventura certainly made sure we had one in the stunning limestone mountain range of the Sierra de las Nieves. I wanted the girls to see the real Spain, and an ecotour seemed the best way to do it.
We were collected (along with another family also staying at the same complex) by 4×4 Land Rover driven by our eager and enthusiastic guide, Hugo. He established an instant rapport with the girls and his English was superb. He was very personable, and what he didn’t know about the ecology of the area wasn’t worth knowing. We drove to Marbella, and on our way into the mountains we passed the UAE Royal Family’s Spanish summer residence. Bougainvillea adorned walls and we looked up to the peak of La Concha above us.
Once off-road we were able to stand and hold onto the roll bars whilst Hugo encouraged us all to push! As we entered the UNESCO Biosphere Reserve of the Sierra de Las Nieves Hugo pulled out some local fauna for us to inspect and we discussed the attributes of these native plants. Fresh fennel, thyme, rosemary, mint, and other plants were examined and Hugo explained about the local grass, esparto. Think Espadrills! It has many uses and is known for its toughness and durability. Hugo showed us the esparto made slings that local shepherds used to herd their goats in the area, and we each had a go at flinging stones into a disused quarry. It was great fun; and once the technique is mastered the stones can travel for miles it seems. It was the only time I have let Emily and Ruby anywhere near such apparatus!
We looked down towards the Presa de la Concepcion, a 7km long dam and reservoir built in 1971. Due to a drier than normal winter last year Hugo explained that it was only fifty percent full and thus causing concern for the remainder of their hot dry summer. After a group photo we left the coast behind us and tackled the hairpin roads of the Nature Park. Hugo told us about the varied fauna of the area, we saw olive groves, pines, almond trees, cactus leaves and flowers, and the African originating carob Trees. Planted by the Arabs many centuries ago they have thrived, their fruit being a popular source of food for local animals and people alike. The Arabs developed a measurement system using the seeds, now known today as the same weight system for evaluating gems – the carat.
Soon we approached the medieval fortress of Istan (meaning high place). The ‘White Village’ was built by the Moors in the 15th Century due to its natural spring, and their original aqueduct is still in use to this day. Hugo parked the Land Rover at the source of the spring for us all to have a drink and cool off, and proceeded to show my girls giant tadpoles, butterflies and even dragonflies that were buzzing around us.
We walked down by the concrete gullies (built around the ancient irrigation system) picking blackberries as we went. We saw oranges, avocados and pomegranates growing in the hill beside the path. Our first panoramic view of Istan greeted us along this pathway. We then met Juan, a 91 year old local resident (and quite a character), who greeted us with fresh tomatoes marinated in olive oil, red wine vinegar and salt, fresh bread and oranges and a mixture of local wines which we drank from the pouch in the appropriate manner: held at arm’s length squirting into ones mouth! He showed us his workmanship with esparto and then came with us to the town square fronted by the ancient mosque turned church, where we had a delicious lunch.
Istan (featuring Juan):
Afterwards we headed further into the mountains and through the indigenous Cork Tree forest, where mature trees (50 years plus) are harvested for their special bark. Hugo showed us a cross section of a sample, with the lines indicating the age of that piece of natural cork. The trees regenerate after about a year, but are not then harvested for at least another ten years. Cork has a porous quality that makes it perfect for letting wines breathe, and the many other uses that man has found for it in bathrooms and kitchens. We learnt that the Cork Tree is impervious to fire, and is well suited to the dry and arid summer landscape where frequent bush fires can occur. They will survive these blazes as long as they have not been recently harvested.
Sierra de las Nieves overview:
Twenty minutes of dusty off-road driving later, and we were rewarded with our final destination of the day: a fresh water pool replete with waterfall which was home to turtles and other small fish. For mum, me and the girls this was the highlight of our trip. We all clambered over the smooth rocks that lead to the pool listening to the sound of the water tumbling from the rocks high above. Our dip was totally refreshing and magical. The girls stayed in the shallows with mum as I swam down the deeper, narrow gorge to the waterfall, and leant against the rock behind its pristine effluent stream. I’ll never forget the sensation of the droplets hitting my sun parched face. We spent about twenty minutes enjoying the cooling effect of its clean, clear water and then climbed back out and into our Land Rover ready to travel back.
Ruby was just about old enough to enjoy the trip we did, but it wouldn’t be suitable for kids under 5 years. Hugo has a passion for his country and the local ecology that really shines through. He often told us interesting facts about the wildlife of the mountains, especially the goats and wild boar; and was very adept at spotting eagles soaring and diving around us. He really made the day enjoyable for all of us, and I’m certain the family we were with had a great time also.
All in all a fabulous day and a fabulous holiday!
Small photo gallery:
My girls trying their hand at Karaoke.
View towards the Strait of Gibraltar from our balcony
Mountain view from our balcony
My little munchkins at Estepona Marina
Captain Ruby setting our heading
Ruby feeling a little chilly on our quest for dolphin sightings.
Nana and Emily finding their sea legs.
Dolphins diving under the yacht
Mummy and Ruby relaxing on the way back to the harbour
Emily having a go as skipper
Emily at La Pintoresca Tapas Restaurant
Emily practising her shepherding skills
Hugo showing Ruby how to use the esparto sling
Entrance to the Nature Park
Hugo showing Emily and Ruby the giant tadpoles at the Istan spring
Just had a drink from the main fresh water
Sign explaining about the spring and irrigation system harnessed by the Moors
Vienna is the world’s foremost classical music city, indeed of the arts in general, and is one of my favourite places. For music and culture it can’t be beaten. During its musical zenith it was home to great composers such as Mozart, Beethoven, Haydn, Schubert, Brahms and the father and son waltz kings, Johann Strauss I and II.
It’s no surprise therefore, that Vienna is the setting for part of my novel, The Virtuoso.
In addition to its musical pedigree Vienna was the birth place, and or base, of artists such as Gustav Klimt and Egon Schiele, as well as some of the world’s most respected and ground breaking writers, thinkers and psychologists such as Franz Grillparzer, Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, Viktor E. Frankl, and more recently, Hans Asperger, Konrad Lorenz, Ludwig von Mises, and Peter Drucker. It was the seat of the mighty Austro-Hungarian Empire and home of the Habsburg dynasty for many centuries. Vienna became a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2001.
I have been to Vienna in both winter and spring. My first visit was in 2005, which also incorporated a trip to Salzburg and Innsbruck. On my second trip in April 2011, I was focussed on consolidating my research for the venues to be featured in my novel, plus my mum and I had tickets to go and see Joshua Bell perform at the Wiener Konzerthaus! He played beautifully, alongside Jeremy Denk on the piano, and I was thrilled to have met him afterwards and he signed my newly purchased CD.
This superb BBC documentary gives a wonderful overview of the ‘City of Dreams’ and its history:
Vienna has it all: the beautiful Danube river, palaces and parks, museums, galleries, concert halls, churches, coffee houses, baroque architecture, modernism, a rich history, warm and friendly inhabitants, and not forgetting apple strudel to die for. It’s an easy place to fall in love in and with, and that’s exactly what my heroine does!
In chapter nineteen Isabelle Bryant travels to Vienna to do some research on her hero Ludwig van Beethoven, so that she can write about his life and music for an article in High Notes magazine. During her stay she has a fortuitous second meeting with enigmatic publisher Daniel Carter, (who has already awakened intensely amorous feelings in her at their first meeting), and they begin a passionate love affair amidst the wintry splendour of the city.
I hope this small section of the chapter gives you a flavour of the musical legacy and delights of Vienna:
The day started out brightly. From her small balcony Isabelle peered over the numerous rooftops, her eyes sweeping over the narrow pavements lined with historical houses, each with their own unique story she pondered. Snow lay undisturbed on the pavement below her in Kirchbergasse, still fresh from the heavy fall the night before. She filled her lungs with the wintry air and then made her way to the lounge for breakfast.
Suitably filled with rolls and orange juice she pulled her handbag across her shoulder and waited for Hans in the hotel lobby. It was dead on 9am. A tall dark figure stood erect and patient by the front door. She smiled at him. He smiled back at her, and in a few strides he was by her side greeting her with an outstretched hand.
‘Good morning Frau Bryant, my name is Hans Moser. I am your guide for the day. I understand you wish to visit some of Beethoven’s Houses?’ His slow and clipped accent immediately warmed her heart. She looked up at his strong features. His wide set jaw, olive skin and dark moustache gave him a strangely Latin appearance, and his large brown eyes were framed by substantial eyebrows. Isabelle guessed he must have been about forty.
‘Good to meet you Mr. Moser. That’s right. I’m researching the composer for an article I’m writing.’
He signalled towards a smart black Mercedes waiting at the entrance and pulled open the rear door for her. ‘Is this is your first visit to Wien?’
‘Not exactly,’ she mumbled, clambering into the seat.
‘I used to be a concert violinist, Mr Moser. I’ve been to Vienna once before, I was on tour playing with the Vienna Philharmonic, and most of my time was spent at the Wiener Musikverein. It was just for a couple of nights and unfortunately I didn’t get to see anything of the city. I spent large chunks of my time rehearsing and preparing. I- I had an accident recently, so I can’t play anymore.’
Hans’ eyes caught hers through the rear view mirror. He had already noticed the dressings on her left hand, and bowed his head.
‘I am sorry for your loss. I wish I had been able to see you play. I am a great lover of classical music and especially of Beethoven. I will do my best to make an enjoyable day for you. Also, please call me Hans.’
‘Thank you Hans, I really appreciate your help. I probably could have made it round the city on buses, trams and by foot, but I’m on quite a tight schedule and I don’t really have time to get lost.’ She raised her left arm. ‘My injury isn’t too good in the cold weather either.’
‘It’s a pleasure for me to assist you in such an important task,’ Hans replied.
Isabelle showed him her scribbles of some of the venues she wanted to see and he looked thoughtful.
‘I will take you to the Beethoven Platz first,’ he said, ‘followed by the famous Theater an der Wein, before stopping at the Memorial Rooms in the Pasqualati House, and perhaps the site of the Schwarzspanierhaus, where he died. Beethoven moved house over eighty times during his time in Wien, so there aren’t many houses that we know of left standing. Also in the city is the Palais Lobkowitz which houses the Eroica Saal and the Palais Pallavicini which is opposite the Spanish Riding School of the Hofburg Palace.’
‘That’s great. If there’s enough time afterwards I’d also like to visit the House of the Heiligenstadt Testament, and the Church of Holy Trinity where Beethoven’s funeral was held.’
Hans gave an accommodating nod. ‘I am at your service, we can go wherever you would like.’
They drove in silence as dark clouds gathered in the sky above. Hans pulled the car into a lay by and proudly pointed towards an imposing statue of Beethoven sternly surveying his eponymous Platz.
Isabelle got out and wandered up to the statue. He looked regal and rightly honoured in pride of place in his own little square. Groups of young students came and went as Isabelle took in the scene. To her left was a gothic building containing a performance hall and rooms, and on the opposite side of the square the view was dwarfed by the towering Intercontinental Hotel, and next to that was an ice rink and some construction cranes. The wind whipped around her like a mini tornado but she felt exhilarated.
She took a few pictures and climbed back into the warm interior of the waiting car, brushing her hair away from her face, and Hans sped off further into the city.
Their next stop was the Theater an der Wien, a relatively innocuous looking building amongst the classical finery of the city. Its early nineteenth century yellow façade appeared a little shabby, but the theatre had seen thousands of Viennese concert goers through its green doors during its history. She studied the guidebook to see that it had been built in 1801, and the statues above the doorway were in fact depicting Papageno, from Mozart’s Magic Flute. Reading further she saw that it had also premiered Beethoven’s Fidelio in 1805.
‘It’s hard to believe Hans, but his violin concerto, which was my favourite, premiered in this very theatre on the twenty third of December 1806, after a rushed completion and next to no rehearsal. The Viennese didn’t take to it, and it wasn’t performed for about another four decades. These days it’s in every soloist’s repertoire as one of the great violin concerti, and has even been transcribed for the piano.’
‘It seems even the best of us sometimes have to wait for success,’ concurred Hans.
Isabelle studied her book. ‘Luckily his grand Symphony number five in C minor fared a lot better in December of 1808. His pastoral Symphony and the fourth piano concerto were also premiered in this unremarkable looking building. What I find amazing is that it’s still in use for concerts in the twenty first century.’
‘The concert hall interior is magnificent.’
‘Can we go in Hans?’
Hans disappeared into a small door around the back of the theatre. Isabelle could hear lots of banging and drilling going on inside. He emerged a few moments later shaking his head.
‘I’m so sorry, but unfortunately they are doing renovations ready for Mozart’s two hundred and fiftieth birthday celebrations in the New Year, and so it is closed to the public.’
Isabelle’s shoulders dropped as she sighed. ‘What a shame.’
Hans led her back to the car and she obediently followed him as he opened the door for her. This kind, tall, strong Austrian man had a grace of movement that was masculine and yet gentle.
The snow began falling again as the engine roared back to life, and they drove towards the Palais Lobkowitz.
‘Hans, I understand Prince Lobkowitz was a great patron of the arts one of Beethoven’s strongest supporters?’
‘He was indeed, Isabelle, along with Prince Karl Lichnowsky, Count von Fries and Archduke Rudolph. If you like, I have an interesting anecdote to tell you, about when Beethoven was making a reputation for himself in Viennese society as virtuoso pianist.’
‘Oh Hans, yes please, do tell, I need insider information for my article. I’d love to know what happened.’ Isabelle leaned forward slightly, stretching her seatbelt.
‘You may know it already, but Prince Lobkowitz organised an improvisation contest between Beethoven and a Prussian pianist popular in Vienna in 1800 called Daniel Steibelt.’
‘I’ve never heard of him, Hans. How cool, a salon duel on the ivories. Please go on.’ Isabelle strained her neck a little closer to Hans.
‘In fact they met twice, firstly at the von Fries residence, the Palais Pallavicini. Steibelt was already an established virtuoso on a tour of European capitals and wanted to make his mark in Vienna. He was known for his, how do you say, tremolandos. The first time they met I’m afraid Steibelt apparently impressed the aristocracy more than Beethoven with his fancy performance of his own Piano Quintet. By all accounts he was condescending in attitude towards Beethoven, who refused to play again on that occasion.’
‘Knowing what an irascible temperament Beethoven had I’m sure his blood must have been boiling after that,’ Isabelle said.
‘Most certainly, Isabelle. A rematch was planned a week later at the Palais Lobkowitz.’
‘Oh! The anticipation! What happened Hans?’
I’m pleased to tell you that Beethoven got his revenge on Steibelt at their second meeting. The aristocracy must have been on the edge of their seats under such an atmosphere of hostility. It is said that Beethoven parodied his precious tremolandos and indeed Steibelt’s entire composition. He imitated Steibelt’s Quintet for the ordinary piece it was, and exposed it in a humiliating fashion. He then began to improvise on it with such brilliance that the audience could barely believe what they were witnessing.’
‘Bravo Beethoven!’
‘Steibelt stormed out of the salon while Beethoven was still playing, indeed, mocking him.’
‘Game set and match Ludwig,’ replied Isabelle.
‘Beethoven was known for having small but very intense and bright eyes. They must have surely been blazing that night,’ Hans concluded.
‘Wow. It would have been incredible to have seen him in full flow, going hell for leather against an opulent backdrop with all his unrefined clothes and mannerisms, trumping some posh, over inflated big wig,’ Isabelle said.
‘Yes. He so comprehensively showed up Steibelt that he left Vienna with his pride in tatters and went straight back to Berlin, refusing to ever play in Vienna again if Beethoven were present.’ Hans pulled the car to halt. ‘And here we are, in front of the very building where it all happened.’
You will have to read the novel to become immersed in the rest of Vienna and the raunchier scenes! These chapters of The Virtuoso are a love letter to Beethoven and Vienna.
I wonder if other writers also worry that they haven’t got enough information on a real place to do it justice? In my case I had to work from old memories and photographs, but my emotions at the time made a big impression on me.
“Work is not always required. There is such a thing as sacred idleness.” ~ George MacDonald
Meditation is an ancient discipline. Sages, monks, and those seeking to understand the Self have been voyaging into the spirit for millennia. In this modern day and age many of us lead busy lives and don’t have the time it takes to master the traditional techniques, let alone practise the discipline on a regular basis in order to avail ourselves of the results it offers. Life can get so crazy sometimes.
I’ve been through some pretty rough times in my life and there’s no doubt that for a while it was touch and go if I was going to make it. Mentally and emotionally I was at rock bottom, and that’s when your thoughts can go really dark. But I managed to pull myself up by my bootstraps (with some help), and in the midst of my woes I discovered meditation. Or to be exact, the lazy person’s meditation system called Holosync. It still requires a small amount of discipline to actually listen to it on a regular basis, but the results are accelerated compared to sitting cross legged chanting “Om” for hours on end. I have been meditating for a decade now, and I’ve never regretted it – not once.
In fact, you could say that it’s rather a mental crutch for me, my hour of bliss at the end or start of a day. So many voices and tasks are vying for my attention, and under the daily onslaught I love to just shut everything out and go inwards for sixty minutes. Time for mindfulness is essential for all of us. Maybe you prefer a long walk in the countryside, or to play a musical instrument (I love that too), but nothing quite beats the feeling of peace and euphoria that the Holosync audio technology can induce in the brain. But for me it’s not just about creating a feeling of Zen for the duration of the CD, it’s about long term evolutionary growth.
My own experiences have been mostly pleasurable, sometimes my mind would be in overdrive and feelings of anxiety would surface as Holosync temporarily pushed my nervous system beyond its capacity. Over time I felt lighter, and eventually mental and emotional baggage dropped away as it came into the light of my awareness. I noticed I had more clarity, increased focus and concentration, more energy, I felt happier, had more awareness and a sense of inner peace. The occasional discomfort is worth it. For relatively short durations I would feel all at sea as my meditation created emotional upheaval, but I learnt to just witness my tumult, and I noticed over time that many of my dysfunctional behaviours ceased. That’s because we can’t act out behaviours that don’t serve us when we are conscious of them. The buried traumas and negative beliefs that are transparent to our conscious mind run on auto pilot, causing our self-sabotaging actions. We don’t know what we don’t know.
I can honestly say, now looking back at my progress with Holosync over the years, the most impactful improvement has been the lessening of feelings of fear and helplessness. I feel more in-tune with my soul. Don’t get me wrong, I still have my fair share of challenges, and I still have times when I’m feeling physically and mentally over-amped and antsy. But I feel that now those times are shorter and less intense, and I have increased resilience to overcome the problems I face. I’ve definitely become more creative since I started meditating.
I made the decision to join the Inner Circle and commit to listening to every level, and I’m now on disc 4 of Flowering Level 3, the journey is almost at an end. But, as Bill says, the changes are permanent, as the brain creates new neural pathways in the course of the programme, so it’s a solid foundation to build on.
There are four major categories of brain wave patterns (plus Gamma) that our brains are subject to at any given moment:
Beta – This is the most rapid pattern, (other than Gamma) the lower range governs normal waking consciousness, concentration, alertness, arousal, cognition, whereas the higher levels are associated with stress, anxiety and anger, fight or flight.
Alpha – The slower patterns of this state prevail when you are more relaxed, perhaps reading an engrossing book, watching movie, when you are in your ‘flow state’ and in the lower range of Alpha is the twilight zone just prior to sleep, a time of heightened creativity. Thomas Edison famously utilised this state to create his inventions.
Theta – Normally associated with dreaming sleep, increased creativity, super learning, integrated experiences, aha moments, lucid dreaming, visions and REM. Theta spikes aid belief, integrative and habit pattern changes. The brain makes lots of stress busting endorphins in Theta.
Delta – This is the brainwave pattern of deep, non-dreaming sleep. It’s a trance like state, where the brain emits human growth hormone (HGH), melatonin (a powerful antioxidant) and DHEA (which acts as a buffer to the stress hormone Cortisol) all of which aid longevity, reduce stress and enhance wellbeing.
For the first two years of Ruby’s life I probably averaged about 3-4 hours of sleep per night. I don’t think I could have functioned without the benefits that I had accrued with my meditation, both physically and emotionally.
New meditators start on the Awakening Prologue, and move on from there. In this support letter Bill explains the different levels and how long they take to complete: support letter
Centerpointe supply new customers with plenty of information about what to expect and how to use the technology, and they have a full support team there to talk to if you are having experiences that you don’t understand or are not sure what to make of. With each new level the carrier frequency is lowered so your brain is doing more work, just like an athlete improving their fitness and pushing their body to new limits.
At the start, and at the beginning of each new level you listen for 30 minutes only for the first 14 days, this is The Dive part of the audio, consisting of pleasant chimes and crystal bowl tones, and then you progress to listening for the full hour, the second 30 minutes is called Immersion, and is evocative of sitting under a hut in tropical rain. It’s beautiful. During Immersion you are taken into Theta and Delta brain waves. It’s hard to describe the wonderful feeling of being awake in Delta. On more than one occasion I had a profound mystical experience, which transcended anything anyone could have told me about.
Because the brain communicates between both hemispheres as a result of meditating the mind evolves into whole brain functioning. Bill Harris likens whole brain thinking (rather than using only one hemisphere) to thinking in stereo. It’s the realm of genius!
I can only relate my experiences with Holosync as that’s the system I have been using. I don’t think I can put a price on my development, but as a member of the Inner Circle I was offered discounted pricing than if I had just paid as and when I progressed onto the next level, and I was able to pay this in affordable monthly installments. Check out their website for full details if you think it might be something you want to try. And no – I’m not on commission!!
A bit of background:
Bill Harris, the founder and CEO of Centerpointe was inspired to create Holosync when he read an article in Scientific American by researcher Dr. Gerald Oster of Mount Sinai medical Center in New York, written in 1973. The article was titled Auditory Beats in the brain, and it detailed how electrical brain wave patterns resonate to certain precise frequencies when presented with audio tones of certain frequencies. In the 80’s Harris studied the research of Nobel Prize Laureat Ilya Prigogine, into the evolution of complex systems (of which the mind is one) and how when entropy is increased it will force an open system to re-organise itself at a higher level of functioning to deal with the increased stimulus.
I could go through a long list of benefits, but they are all covered on the Centerpointe website. The health benefits of meditation have also been documented by Harvard Medical School.
Bill Harris explains the mental, emotional and physical benefits of Holosync:
I’d like to finish on one of my favourite poems, Samadhi by Paramhansa Yogananda, which for me, embodies the mystical and the divine:
I’m the sort of person who likes to push my boundaries and when it’s time for me to depart dear planet Earth I’d like to be able to look back without regret or recrimination and say I gave it my all, I lived life to the full.
You’re probably thinking that the topic of bridges doesn’t sound particularly exciting, but for some reason I have a fascination with them. I’m in awe of their designs and feats of engineering, (it’s one thing to draw some plans on paper and quite another to build one that spans miles of water or stretches over deep chasms and ravines. My mind wonders how they manage to stay put and remain firm and safe under continual assault from the elements and with multitudes of people and cars crossing them.
There are so many iconic bridges I’d love to cross. Up there would be the Golden Gate Bridge, the Capilano Suspension Bridge in Vancouver, The Seven Mile Bridge spanning the Florida Keys, the Oresund Bridge from Denmark to Sweden, the historic Ponte Vecchio in Florence and the Millau Viaduct in Southern France. I hope I’d have the nerve to go to the edge of the Stairway to nothingness at the Dachstein Glacier Resort in Austria.
The Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Brooklyn Bridge both offer stunning city views, but a bridge doesn’t have to be epic to be brilliant in my book.
I found the Rialto and the Bridge of Sighs in Venice very sweet and romantic. I even love the little Hertford Bridge, similar to, but much smaller than the Rialto, which joins two parts of Hertford College over New College Lane in Oxford. Needless to say I absolutely loved the Charles Bridge in Prague! I always think of the opening scene of Mission Impossible. It’s dark, eerie and shrouded in mist, and well, you know, the agents all get bumped off except Ethan…
If you feel that way inclined you can do a bridge climb over the Sydney Harbour Bridge:
These two guys must be off their rockers! The Russky Bridge Vladivostok:
One for all you adrenaline junkies! 25 Scary Bridges:
That’s all very well you may say, Ginny, but what about the two bridges? Well, I’m getting there. Who would have guessed that Buckinghamshire and Budapest would share a close link?
Let’s bridge the gap!
The Chain Bridge in Budapest is both massive and elegant. Straddling the Danube, it joins Pest to the ancient Buda side of the city, topped by its lofty and imposing castle that looks down over the sparkling capital. I had a great couple of days working in the city inspecting hotels that were contracted for the Hungarian Grand Prix. I remember the historical Gresham Palace (facing the Chain Bridge on the Pest side) was being renovated ready to house what is now the luxurious Four Seasons Hotel.
Around fifteen years after that trip whilst doing some research for my novel, The Virtuoso, I discovered the link between the two places. I’ve been going to Marlow for many years, but because I didn’t delve into its history until recently, I’ve only just made the connection.
Marlow is a local and picturesque market town on the banks of the River Thames in South Buckinghamshire. It has a pretty white suspension bridge that spans the Thames, linking Marlow to the village of Bisham in Berkshire. Just on the other side of the bridge from the town end nestles the famous Compleat Angler Hotel.
Marlow is famous for its annual summer regattas, and was also home to Percy Bysshe Shelley and Mary Shelley, who moved into West Street in 1816. The writer and poet T.S. Eliot was also a resident of West Street during the First World War. It is also rumoured that Henry VIII courted Jane Seymour on the land where the Georgian House stands, known as Court Garden, which also has a bronze statue on its lawn erected to our most successful Olympian, the five times Gold medal winner – rower Sir Steve Redgrave..
Low and behold it turns out that the Marlow Suspension Bridge, built between 1829 and 1832 and the Széchenyi Chain Bridge in Budapest (completed in 1849) are almost identical, except in scale. They were both designed by the same Victorian era English civil engineer – William Tierney Clark.
The Marlow Bridge was the smaller prototype that preceded its larger sibling in Hungary, built to replace a wooden bridge further downstream, which had collapsed in 1828.
Construction in Budapest was supervised by the Scotsman Adam Clark. At the time of its completion in 1849 the Chain Bridge was the first permanent bridge to span the Danube in Hungary and one of the largest of its kind in the world.
A plaque on the Pest side of the river reads “To commemorate the only two surviving bridges designed by William Tierney Clark: The Széchenyi Chain Bridge over the Danube at Budapest and the suspension bridge over the Thames at Marlow, England.” A similar plaque has been placed on the Marlow Suspension Bridge, photographed here, if you can read it!
Tierney was among the earliest designers of suspension bridges, and his first bridge was the Hammersmith Suspension Bridge in London, which opened in 1827. This bridge has since been replaced by a later one designed by Sir Joseph Bazalgette. I have spent many traffic jams driving home from London on that particular bridge…
Recent controversy over mothers breastfeeding in public in certain US states has brought the #FreeTheNipple movement to my attention . It’s about time…
Everybody’s Gotta Eat:
It made me reflect on my own experiences with nursing my four babies. There is much science to back-up the health benefits to mother and child of breastfeeding one’s infant – I won’t go into that here. Suffice to say, my choice was to do the best I could to nourish my little ones. I’m not judgemental about mothers who don’t, or who have problems trying, each of has our own unique experiences and circumstances. But what I do find hard to stomach is the intolerance of others towards mothers who are committed to the long term health of their children. That, to me, is unacceptable. Nursing mothers should be protected by law.
To effectively be a prisoner in your own home because you are fearful of what others might think is a sad state of affairs. I remember I didn’t venture out after the birth of my first son until I was ultra-confident and we had established a comfortable routine of feeding. Even then I tried to avoid lactating in public. But hey, you have to buy food and other provisions, visit other new mums and attend social engagements, so at some point it has to be done when you’re out and about.
I’ve had to endure sneaky feeds in the car, in the toilet, at the back of restaurants, in friend’s homes etc. When I had my second son I was more self-assured about feeding, but despite our success at it, and the beautiful bond I had formed with him, I only managed to breastfeed him for 3 months because I had to return to work and it was just too difficult to be expressing milk in an office environment. I couldn’t get on with it at home, let alone anywhere else. Some of my mates would fill whole bottles, compared to my measly few ounces. Somehow the attachment of a machine made me feel a bit too much like Gertrude to really ‘let go’. I had a real guilt complex about that for ages. Luckily Wills seems none the worse for the fact that he was fed for the shortest amount of time of all my offspring.
I remember going to a wedding reception when Wills was only about a month old, and he was voraciously hungry all the time. My let down reflex was so powerful that I didn’t even need to be in the same room with him, I would just leak milk when that strong tingling feeling came over me. It’s time for a feed. I only had to get caught out once to invest in a ton of breast pads.
None of us are blatant exhibitionists who can’t wait to show of our new, non-surgically enlarged mammaries: we just have a biological need to feed our babies when they need feeding. There’s nothing more stressful than being in the middle of a food shop only to have your wee bairn exercise his lungs to the extent that the whole store has to cover their ears. It’s very distressing. There’s nothing more natural and easy than being able to attach them to your body, which doesn’t need sterilising or heating to the perfect temperature and has all the exact nutrients your baby needs.
Given the choice many of us would rather feed in private. I would even retreat to the bedroom in my own home if we had visitors, but sometimes it’s unavoidable in public. It’s important for mums to retain some semblance of a normal life, other than being purely a feeding and nappy changing machine in those early months. When I had my girls I used to love going to John Lewis because they had designated comfortable feeding areas that were not a toilet. If only all major retailers had the same ethos and caring attitude towards their customers.
There has been so much education for new mums, and many midwives will help you to get the technique right so that you don’t feel like your nipple has been plugged into the national grid. There are breastfeeding clinics and organisations such as the NCT that do wonderful work all-round for mothers.
Reading about some of the negative experiences of other lactating mums I feel the education really needs to be aimed at the general public. I think most people are tolerant if the mother is fairly discreet in the UK, and companies like Mamaway and Jojo Maman Bebe do stylish nursing tops that make it easier to feed with minimal flesh exposure. But looking to the US, I do feel they are un-necessarily prudish in their outlook. If a woman happens to flash a nipple while trying to get her baby to latch on (and sometimes, if they are really agitated it can take a few goes to get them on right, even for a seasoned pro), to then be liable for arrest because she is ‘exposing’ herself is just beyond the pale. It’s a ticking time bomb. If mums feel isolated and unwelcome in society in those early months that’s another reason not to breastfeed. A generation down the line there could be all sorts of health issues. Attitudes need to change – fast.
Why should keeping a helpless baby alive stimulate so much prejudice, annoyance and downright scorn?
There is something inherently sick in a society where violent films rake in millions at the box office, where graphic scenes of murder and killing are celebrated, but the sight of a mother doing the right thing by feeding her baby who is in need of sustenance can cause offence. Perhaps the mothers of those individuals should not have bothered with them!
Many first time mums are coping with either some, or all of these symptoms: sore bodies, sore nipples, lack of sleep, lack of confidence, post natal depression, loss of freedom, fear about their abilities as a mother…
The last thing they need is to suffer the accusing stares of ignorant people, and worse, the interruption of a feed by someone asking her to stop or leave when her baby is latched on.
Artemisia Gentileschi – Madonna and baby Jesus (1609)
Breastfeeding has been celebrated in classical, Baroque and Renaissance art, with beautiful paintings from the likes of Peter Paul Rubens, Giovanni Bottrafaffio, Botticelli, Joos Van Cleve, Leonardo da Vinci and Artemisia Gentileschi to more recent artists such as Jean-Baptiste Greuze, Paul Cezanne, Camille Cortot and Mary Cassatt.
Here is a link to a blog on the Facebook issue (but also mentions the prolific amount of Renaissance art on the subject).
I’ve always said that mothers are the ultimate executives. Instead of raising profits we are raising humanity. Let us do that with some humanity! Don’t make us feel awkward or embarrassed about it. We come in for criticism about so many things, either for working too many hours, or for being a stay-at-home mum, or for not breastfeeding, and it is totally unfair. Juggling a career and raising children is challenging, and most of us feel we are not doing enough in either area. But I think the ‘having it all’ debate is worthy of a separate post.
Every woman must do what she thinks is best for her young one, and someone’s aversion to seeing her God-given assets being used in the manner that God intended – for the nurturing of her baby, is just not her problem!
I applaud The Guardian for this article written a year ago.
It’s not all bad, some companies are forward thinking, I remember reading about a Japanese firm that allows its new mum employees take their babies to work and feed them on the premises. But that is the exception rather than the rule.
With diabetes, cancer, heart disease and other diseases on the rise and with the NHS and GP’s constantly under so much pressure, isn’t it a worthwhile goal to prevent illness?
You can’t beat a mother’s milk, hence my twisted take on Tina Turner – Simply the Breast!
I went to a small scale church concert on Sunday at St. Edburg’s Church in Bicester with my aunt and my mother. It didn’t take long to persuade me as Mozart, Mendelssohn and Beethoven were on the programme.
The amateur music ensemble Trinity Camerata (conducted by Sam Laughton) gave a wonderful opening to the afternoon with the Overture to Don Giovanni. The conductor (who was very eloquent), gave us all a preamble about each piece, which was really interesting and added to our understanding and enjoyment of the music. It’s the sort of ensemble I’d like to join when I’ve taken my Grade 8 and have more time to practise.
The highlight of the afternoon was being just a few feet away from the guest soloist, Adelia Myslov, the young virtuoso who performed the popular Mendelssohn Violin Concerto in E minor.
Here is my favourite vintage recording of the work with Yehudi Menuhin, the Berlin Philharmonic and Wilhelm Furtwängler:
All I can say is wow, this diminutive Russian really packs a powerful punch with her violin. To say her performance blew me away is an understatement. As far as I could tell with my limited understanding of music her performance was pretty flawless. Not just technically, but stylistically, musically and emotionally. She had her eyes closed for most of it, and the feelings of the music were etched on her expressions, and then translated into the sound from her gifted Lorenzo Storioni violin.
She’s fabulously talented, and I sat in awe at her prowess on the violin. Her double-stopping was so clean, the rapid arpeggios seemed effortless, combined with incredible bow control, and impeccable intonation. She produced the sweetest top notes. The cadenza was truly virtuosic. The acoustics of the church were fantastic, and her pure tone sang out the lyrical melancholy tones of the opening movement with such poignancy that my eyes became leaky…
I have no doubt that she will make it onto the world stage. She deserves to be as well-known as the likes of Hilary Hahn, Julia Fischer, Nicola Benedetti, Janine Jansen, Anne-Sophie Mutter and Vanessa Mae. She will win many hearts and over time, a huge fan base.
Originally from St. Petersburg her family moved to the UK where she attended the Yehudi Menuhin School and Purcell School of Music. Her website charts her musical achievements: http://www.adeliamyslov.co.uk/
I found this clip from her acclaimed recital series ‘Mortal Man; Immortal Dreams’ with pianist Craig White.
When she is famous I’ll be able to look back and say I had the pleasure of seeing her perform in an old church in Oxfordshire.
The concert was rounded off with Beethoven’s jolly and exuberant 8th Symphony, that he affectionately nicknamed his “little one” in F Major. Whilst not every note or nuance was perfect the Trinity Camerata certainly put in a competent performance and captured the Master’s impish and ebullient mood throughout his happiest symphony!
I’m aware this post is a bit on the long side, (I hope you’ll stick with me), mainly because the subject matter is quite in-depth. I opted for a slightly meatier article as I didn’t want to just pay lip service to a profession that requires huge amounts of skill and dedication.
Certain conductors are just as famous and revered in their own right as the soloists and orchestras they wave their batons at; with reputations alone that can fill a concert hall. Here are the cream of the crop listed by surname, both past and present, across the alphabet:
Classical music fans tend to have their preferences. For some it’s their interpretation of a particular work, and for others, nothing less than hero worship. Leopold Stokowski was known for his innovative orchestral arrangements; and his enduring performance in Fantasia for Disney, which brought classical music to a whole decade of youngsters and continues to do so to this day.
Documentary – Stokowski at 88:
Leonard Bernstein’s talks on music educated a swathe of music lovers into understanding the master composers, along with his legendary teaching abilities.
Daniel Barenboim and his close friend, the late Palestinian-American academic Edward Said, jointly created the ground-breaking West-Eastern Divan Orchestra in 1999. WEDO is a youth orchestra made up of musicians from the Midde East, namely Egypt, Iran, Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Palestine, Syria and Spain, being based in Seville. They are an example to us all through their unity and their music. I saw them perform Beethoven’s 5th and 6th symphonies at the Royal Albert Hall for the 2012 BBC Proms. It was magical!
In Barenboim’s own words:
“The Divan is not a love story, and it is not a peace story. It has very flatteringly been described as a project for peace. It isn’t. It’s not going to bring peace, whether you play well or not so well. The Divan was conceived as a project against ignorance. A project against the fact that it is absolutely essential for people to get to know the other, to understand what the other thinks and feels, without necessarily agreeing with it. I’m not trying to convert the Arab members of the Divan to the Israeli point of view, and [I’m] not trying to convince the Israelis to the Arab point of view. But I want to – and unfortunately I am alone in this now that Edward died a few years ago – …create a platform where the two sides can disagree and not resort to knives.”
Herbert von Karajan, principle conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra for 35 years, was just epic in every sense of the word… But not loved by all: Save us from the resurrection of that old devil
Composer/conductor Jean-Baptise Lully (1632 – 1687) goes down in history as the only conductor to be mortally wounded in the pursuit of his craft. Death by baton occurred when Lully staked himself in the foot with his long conducting staff during a performance of his Te Deum to mark Louis XIV’s recovery from surgery. The wound became infected, but Lully refused amputation and died of gangrene two months later.
They all had, and have, their special attributes, their individual quirks, that players and listeners either love or loathe. But regardless of their personalities (which do in part help to cement their reputations), it’s their innate skill to understand the music and bring out the best in their ensembles and orchestras that fascinates us as much as their ferocious expressions when a beat was missed or a note played out of tune.
Documentary – The Art of Conducting – Legendary Conductors of a Golden Era:
Over the years they have been sent up as bumbling idiots presiding over a rabble of musicians… Rowan Atkinson conducting Beethoven never fails to amuse!
In the third chapter of my novel, The Virtuoso, I briefly explore the role of the conductor from the protagonist’s view point (after all, she is married to one!) In my story he is a little unhinged, so I’m making un-reserved apologies now to all conductors: I’m not saying you are all egomaniacs like the character Howard Miller, who is derived solely from my imagination!
Throughout the evening Isabelle observed Howard intently. She had never really seen him in action before, as their schedules hadn’t been conducive to joint collaborations. It was one of the few times his normally furrowed face was free of lines, and just animated. He waved the baton rhythmically, first low by his waist when the music came to a quiet section, and then as the tension built and it came to a crescendo he was more forcible; also using his left arm, raising it, and sometimes shaking it slightly to indicate to the strings that he wanted more volume or intensity. It was certainly a skill that she greatly admired. No matter how good the individual players in an orchestra were, the resulting experience of the audience was also impacted largely by the role of the conductor. He was the sculptor shaping and carving the flow of time and the form of the music, living and breathing the notes with his orchestra. But it was a skill that involved so much more than beating out time. Part of his job was to embody the character of the music, as well as to deeply understand the tempo and phraseology of the work, and how the abilities and ranges of his musicians and their instruments could express the essence of the music in each moment.
It was a delicate eco-system she mused: the conductor could have all the mechanics and knowledge at his disposal but without the attribute of being able to physically communicate his feelings evoked by the music to his players, through his meaningful actions of the baton, his arms, his hands, his fingers, eyes and the gestures of his personality, and have them respond accordingly, it would not elevate them all as group to an exalted performance. Most conductors were also proficient or virtuosic on an instrument themselves. These were the attributes that were needed to be a really great conductor.
She had been impressed to learn that Howard could listen to a score as he looked at it, hearing the printed notes in his head before a single note had been played. She knew he was fastidious about preparation and could anticipate where his musicians might make mistakes during a performance. He had quoted Leonard Bernstein to her on one occasion. ‘Isabelle, conducting is like breathing; the preparation is the inhalation, and the music sounds as exhalation. I have to always be a breath ahead of them.’
What was it that set apart the big names from the ones who didn’t quite make it on to the world stage? The likes of Karajan, Barenboim and Bernstein who had achieved their iconic status had an intangible magic about their relationships with their respective orchestras. She wasn’t sure if Howard shared their passion, he seemed to exhibit more of a cold ambition.
Respect on both sides was essential, but it had to be more than that. It had to be total commitment. Love for the music created an energy that brought it to life for the audience.
Interestingly, The Academy of St. Martin in the Fields (named after the eponymous London church where they are based) was created by Sir Neville Marriner in 1959 as a small string ensemble that would perform minus a conductor, but has since evolved to a larger group now with a conductor.
Mendelssohn founded the first tradition of modern conducting based on the concept of precision by using a baton about 150 years ago.
Big Think gives us food for thought:
Maestro we need you!
Co-ordination especially larger orchestras
Understanding complex music
Efficiency
Preparation & Interpretation
Perception of the inner meanings of music
Powers of communication & inspiration
Knowledge of the cultural background of the composer & context of the work
Balance, dynamics, style & tempo
Sculptor of time, not just the beats but the form, the whole phraseology of the work
Intangibles – Conductor & orchestra bound together in the moment, creating a physical response in the listener.
London Symphony Orchestra conducting masterclass:
I love this eloquent extract from Leonard Bernstein as he describes a conductor’s role in his book, The Joy of Music:
“But the conductor must not only make his orchestra play; he must make them want to play. He must exalt them, lift them, start their adrenalin pouring, either through cajoling or demanding or raging. But however he does it, he must make the orchestra love the music as he loves it. It is not so much imposing his will on them like a dictator; it is more like projecting his feelings around him so that they reach the last man in the second violin section. And when this happens – when one hundred men share his feelings, exactly, simultaneously, responding as one to the rise and fall of the music, to each point of arrival and departure, to each little inner pulse- then there is a human identity of feeling that has no equal elsewhere. It is the closest thing I know to love itself. On the current of love the conductor can communicate at the deepest levels with his players, and ultimately with his audience. He may shout and rant and curse and insult his players at rehearsal- as some of our greatest conductors are famous for doing – but if there is this love, the conductor and his orchestra will remain knit together through it all and function as one.
Well, there is our ideal conductor. And perhaps the chief requirement of all is that he be humble before the composer; that he never interpose himself between the music and the audience; that all his efforts, however strenuous or glamorous, be made in the service of the composer’s meaning- the music itself, which, after all, is the whole reason for the conductor’s existence.”
In some cases the composer himself is the conductor. Nothing new there. But – when his composition skills outweigh his conducting skills and he can’t hear, that’s a brave undertaking indeed!
In conclusion, I am reminded of the words of the soprano Wilhemine Schroder-Devrient in 1822, recalling her experiences of singing the role of Leonore in a revived production of Beethoven’s Fidelio at the Kärntnertortheater in Vienna, with dear Ludwig himself conducting:
“At that time the Master’s physical ear was already deaf to all tone. With confusion written on his face, with more than earthly enthusiasm in his eye, swinging his baton to and fro with violent motions, he stood in the midst of the playing musicians and did not hear a single note! When he thought they should play piano, he almost crept under the conductor’s desk, and when he wanted a forte, he leaped high into the air with the strangest gestures, uttering the weirdest sounds. With each succeeding number we grew more intimidated, and I felt as though I were gazing at one of Hoffman’s fantastic figures which had popped up before me. It was unavoidable that the deaf Master should throw singers and orchestra into the greatest confusion and put them entirely off beat until none knew where they were at. Of all this, Beethoven was entirely unconscious, and thus with the utmost difficulty we concluded a rehearsal with which he seemed altogether content, for he laid down his baton with a happy smile.”
The image this passage conveys always brings a smile to my face.
‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’ This keen observation from Jane Austen is universally acknowledged as the brilliantly articulate opening line to the classic romantic novel Pride and Prejudice. It was first published in 1813, and over two hundred years later it remains one of the most popular novels ever written. I am no Jane Austen aficionado, but I do admire her greatly.
“Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”
For all her wit and wisdom, her fertile imagination and her publishing success, especially during a time when women were considered soft furnishings in men’s establishments – Jane Austen had to endure her own personal heartbreak. If only she could have known how she would come to be so adored in every corner of the 21st century world, by those still blessed with a romantic heart and a thirst for understanding human foibles.
I ponder what it is about her writing that has made her such an icon of British literature. Certainly her prose is beautiful and her insights into affairs of the heart erudite. Her heroines are willful, passionate and intelligent (women after her own heart), and her settings are magnificent, and to a large extent from her own world. Love is in the air, but only after an interminable amount of suffering, heart ache and introspection on the part of her vividly drawn characters; before being fully realised and experienced as a happy ever after.
Her true story is both inspiring and tragic. However, we will return to reality a little later on.
The reason for my sudden Austen mania is that I’ve just watched ‘Austenland’ on Sky Movies. It was released in 2013, and filmed entirely on location at the Dashwood Estate, West Wycombe Park – only five minutes from my house. I ask myself, how could I not know this was happening? I would have been down there like a shot, gate crashing the crew.
I did however, take my girls there in February this year to explore Lady Dashwood’s snowdrop trail. We had a ball, and the grounds are every bit as beautiful as portrayed in the film. I took rather a lot of pictures, which I have scattered throughout this post. The Music Temple on the island in the lake is the image for my current header.
Austen has inspired no less than 21 movies and television miniseries, here are just a few of my favourites in order of preference:
Pride and Prejudice – the stunning 2005 film adaptation by Joe Wright starring Keira Knightly as the spirited Elizabeth & Matthew Macfadyen as the brooding Mr Darcy (and a gorgeous piano soundtrack by Dario Marianelli). I have watched this version no fewer than five times.
The 1995 P&P miniseries with Colin Firth as the dashing but aloof Mr Darcy and Jennifer Ehle as the charming Elizabeth.
The ITV drama Lost in Austen with Jemima Rooper, Elliot Cowan and Hugh Bonneville combined old with new in a wonderful twist on P&P.
Death Comes to Pemberley – the continuation of the P&P story was penned by P.D. James and, quite frankly I doubt whether any other author would have been up to the task of continuing Austen’s legacy. The BBC adaptation was also superb.
Sense & Sensibility – the 1995 Ang Lee film features Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet as the hard done by Dashwood sisters with Hugh Grant, Greg Wise and Alan Rickman cast as the main men of the story. In fact, it’s an all-star cast, totally sumptuous, heart breaking and visceral.
Emma – Romola Garai and Jonny Lee Miller are fabulous in this tale of mischief and matchmaking.
Becoming Jane – with Ann Hathaway as the feisty author and James McAvoy as her one-time love Thomas Langlois Lefroy.
Unfortunately Austenland isn’t in the same league as the above adaptations, but it doesn’t take itself too seriously and it does have a marvellous setting for the lonely Jane Austen obsessed protagonist to lose herself in: namely a palladian and neo classical style house and gardens as the backdrop for her copper package regency experience, complete with stereotype actors paid to romance her in the manner of a bygone era.
West Wycombe Park was built between 1740 and 1800 and was home to Sir Francis Dashwood 2nd Baronet, a notorious and licentious English politician and founder of the Hellfire Club.
And now, if you’ve got this far, thank you for having the patience to bear with me! Let’s delve into the fate of the lady who started it all – Jane Austen.
I visited her home/museum in the village of Chawton in Hampshire a couple of years ago; it is wonderfully preserved much as it would have been in Jane’s day. She began living there in 1809. The museum contains lots of information about her day to day life, her devotion to her sister, her letters to her brothers, wider family and friends, excerpts of her hand written manuscripts and personal items.
Sadly, Jane’s own love for trainee barrister Thomas Lefroy was not to result in marriage, as his family did not approve of the match. They never saw each other again and Jane died a spinster aged a paltry 41 years of age. Had she married Lefroy it is almost certain we would not have benefitted from the rich literary legacy she created from a life dedicated to writing. She is buried in the north aisle of the nave at Winchester Cathedral. There are many suppositions as to the cause of her death, which range from Addisons Disease, to bovine Tuberculosis to Brill-Zinsser disease, a recurrent form of Typhus (which Jane had as a child).
Wonderful interview with author P.D. James about her Jane Austen sequel, Death Comes to Pemberley:
‘But for my own part, if a book is well written, I always find it too short.’ ~ Jane Austen
William was only about 5 then, and unburdened by the nerves he can sometimes suffer from these days. He seemed to relax and thoroughly enjoy himself. We left and went back into the road, and walked to where I parked the car; only there was no car. With my car gone, and the kids in tears, I ran back into the casting agency and became somewhat hysterical. They were brilliant; they called Westminster Council and established where my car had been taken, then called me a taxi to get there. I had to walk along the most massive underground car park in Mayfair carrying a baby in a car seat with a 5 and 9 year old wailing and moaning beside me. I duly paid the £250 to get my car back and drove home. As you can image the air was somewhat blue inside my mind!Working as an extra in Pan is amazing; it’s such an awesome experience! But it’s hard work though, ten hour days plus one hour journeys each way to the studios. It was very tiring. I normally had a 6.45am start at the rendezvous, where we travelled by minibus to Cardington Studios in Bedfordshire.
Arrgghh! Tutoring! This was next in my day. Tutoring could be fun though, and so it was a lot more enjoyable than school. One time we did a huge planned court case which was really interesting. Sometimes we didn’t go on set but on this day we did.
It was great to collect him at the end of a busy day, and hear him enthuse about a multitude of impressions such as: exploding mud, the energy of being on set, watching the actors practising their sword fighting skills, the delicious meals they had for lunch, meeting other young actors from a few other stage schools, including Levi Miller who plays Peter Pan.
rhap.so.dy in words 