열아홉 순정 (Pure 19)

안녕하세요!

Who would have ever thought that I would fall susceptible to the charms of Korean drama serials. But the seemingly impossible has happened and pigs are flying.

For the past couple of weeks, my household went raving mad over the Korean drama serial 열아훕 순정 (Pure 19/十九岁的纯情). My mother, being very much beside herself, bought the entire serial on DVD and started a marathon during which late(r) nights became a given as we obsess to complete watching the 167 episodes.

It's not Shakespeare, that's for sure. But this quaint romantic comedy has charm enough. It narrates in the main a quasi-Cinderella tale about parochial 양국화 (Yang Gukhwa) who falls in love with 박윤후 (Park Yun Hu), the icy director son of a wealthy businessman.

Not surprisingly, their relationship is pumped full with trails and tribulations. Though it may get sappy at times, the serial is never short of comedic scenes, mainly provided by the loony 박윤정 (Park Yun Jeong) and her affection-beleaguered lover 홍우졍 (Hong Ugjung).

But Korean drama serials aside, my true attachment, having taken my maiden steps, is to the Korean script, which I find extremely fascinating - as is evident from my attempt at including as many words written in Korean script as I can manage.

The only known script to have been commissioned to tailor for need, the Korean script was invented in the 1440s. Although it has an alphabet (called 한굴), it does not string its letters in a line like most languages do, but arranges them into syllabic blocks. For someone who has always thought that the adorable human-like characters ideograms, this came as a pleasant surprise.

Korean drama serials, Korean movies (of which I've watched a few), Korean food! With my current Korean obsession, I'm sure I'll be tempted by more things Korean - and boy am I looking forward to them!! =)

열아훕 순정 Official Website

Into the Woods

It blows your mind away!

Nominated for and winner of multiple Tony Awards in 1987, a year dominated by Sir Andrew Lloyd Weber's Phantom of the Opera, Into the Woods has it's fair share of following, albeit a tiny one in Singapore where the name Stephen Sondheim is hardly greeted with turning heads.

Starring a brilliant cast including Bernadette Peters and Joanna Gleason, this comedy tickles from the start of once upon a time to the end of happily ever after. Farcical and hyperbolical, Into the Woods weaves well known fairy tales into a touching tale of self-exploration and family love that drives the listener to passionate tears. Though the music is not immediately attention grabbing, it eventually grows onto you and only then shows it's ensnaring brilliance.

In the words of a friend - now I cannot say "once upon a time" without breaking out in a hearty laughter!

Catch the 1991 Recorded Performance starring the Original Broadway Cast on YouTube:

• Into the Woods Act 1 Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 & 9
• Into the Woods Act 2 Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 & 8

The Rose of the World

Here’s presenting to you another poem by W. B. Yeats -

The Rose of the World

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?
For these red lips, with all their mournful pride,
Mournful that no new wonder may betide,
Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna’s children died.

We and the labouring world are passing by:
Amid men’s souls, that waver and give place
Like the pale waters in their wintry race,
Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,
Lives on this lonely face.

Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode:
Before you were, or any heart to beat,
Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;
He made the world to be a grassy road
Before her wandering feet.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwW. B. Yeats

OCBC Singapore Theatre Festival

Visit the official website: OCBC Singapore Theatre Festival

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Most people have probably heard me gush about this poem by W. B. Yeats at some time or another. Well, I am not sorry. It is, in my opinion, the best love poem I've ever read - so simple yet extensive - and even now, my heart melts every time I read it. So to those whom I haven't pestered, here is the beauty:

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under you feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwW. B. Yeats

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (1927)

What a mouth full of a title! "Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea", presented by 1927, however belies an hour-long multimedia production filled with a pervading sense of rustic allure which aptly suited its strange, gently warped ideas. Set against a timeless Britain of cobbled winding thoughts, two deadpan sisters (played by Esme Appleton and Suzanne Andrade) narrates ten grisly tales a third (Lillian Henley) tinkles chilling tunes at the piano.

Standing before an intricately shot and designed video (by Paul Bill Barritt), the actresses act out darkly humorous sketches ranging from the profane "The 9 Deaths of Choo Choo le Chat" to the strangely reminiscent "The Sinking City" where men and children moon in the streets, bereft of women lost for - the "clap". Each tale has it's own unique offers, keeping the audience ceaselessly giggling at the edge of their seats.

Among the more memorable tales for me is the delightful "The Tin Biscuit Revolution" in which disgruntled gingerbread men, taunted by the recalcitrant baker, haunted him down with gingerbread guns shooting icing pellets, and eventually taking over the world leaving the rivers running red with raspberry jam.

The second tale, the name of which I have forgotten, was a surrealistic recounting of a dream where the celestial bodies indulged in lesbian orgies and the moon fed her baby stars and depressingly practical brownie girls turn out to be goat demons. And in "Grandmother", two sadistic sisters found among the audience a new playmate to replace their recently escaped granny.

All too soon, the tale came to an end, leaving poor Appleton "running" in the "streets" as reluctant audience members left the recital studio...

1927 Official Website

Jan Morris Remarries

Jan Morris, a prominent travel journalist who famously recorded her sex-change operation in the autobiographical "Conundrum", entered a civil partnership with her previous wife, Elizabeth Tuckniss, nearly 60 years after their marriage and more than 30 after their divorce. Read the entire The Daily Telegraph article for more information.

Many in recent years have perhaps unconsciously felt intimidated by the ways limits of sexuality have been stretched and challenged (remember Thomas Beatie); and I shouldn't be surprised if more discontent should be elicited from Singaporeans, who have been generally considered a conservative population.

I, however, always find it encouraging to hear such news, knowing that while unprecedented divorce rates in heterosexual marriages have also been challenging conventions of love, people belonging to the sexual minorities are treading, against prevailing negative stereotypes, previously unimaginable and untrodden axes of loves.

May I just softly give my blessings to this wonderful octogenarian.

Michael Schiefel

Listening to the June 2007 Musik-Podcast des Goethe Institut today, I was introduced to a most enchanting and innovative musician - Michael Schiefel. The episode talked briefly about his latest album "Don't Touch My Animals" (2006) and featured an extremely amusing song - "Aufm Dorf und Inner Stadt" - that was exuding with Hindi charm and caught my attention immediately.

Michael Schiefel was born in 1970 in Münster and has worked as a professional vocal artiste since the 1990s. In 2001 he was appointed a vocal professor in the Franz Liszt Conservatory in Weimar.

Prior to "Don't Touch My Animals", he produced two solo albums: "I Don't Belong" (2000) and "Invisible Loop" (1997). Though he is formally trained in jazz vocals, Michael Schiefel's albums reflect experimental styles with interesting electronic manipulation methods like track looping. His voice, which covers a wide range, has also been frequently described as androgynous - which is of great intrigue to me!



Do visit his websites for more information
www.michaelschiefel.com
www.myspace.com/michaelschiefel (While you're at it, listen to Präludium #3. I love it!)

For All the Wrong Reasons

Basing my decision solely on a positive review given by The Guardian, I bought my tickets to “For All the Wrong Reasons” with hardly any idea what I was in for; and after watching it, I still don’t know what I was in for, except for a whole lot of wicked fun and twisted questions.

"The success of the piece lies in its mix of emotional openness and ambiguity...spectacularly silly and touchingly simple" - The Guardian

Directed by Lies Pauwels and starring an eclectic (and in more than one aspect) cast of six, this Flemish theatrical fiesta is a discombobulating indulgence which serves up delightfully silly and simultaneously melancholic characters of most variable, and at times nebulous, personalities. Juggling many queries and not answering any of them, "For All the Wrong Reasons" is a burlesque exploration of our senseless humanity in this didactic world.

Among the many sights and sounds, here are some of the more memorable ones for me. Wayne Summerbell, who opened the production, played a gender bending role that vacillated between a cross-dressing bunny and macho band-boy twat. In his self contradicting manners, I see an admirably tormented creature who tries to find a role in a society bent on hating him. "Ich kann sie etwas lehren", I thought I heard him yell in German - and indeed.

I particularly enjoyed Suzanne Loudon's wayfaring gamine who was determinedly self-victimizing. I still find myself unable to stop laughing at the memory of her, after her jeremiad characteristic of the many self-righteous beings beleaguered by what we deem an uncaring society, bawling "and then the cat sneezed in my face!". Another verbosity was David Hoyle who's slick mannerisms elicited much laughter. I personally loved the scene when he mouthed, and subsequently belted, to the Bee Gees's "I Started a Joke" - a song that very accurately reflects the play's farcical obsession.

"How do people survive, and how much theatre do they play in everyday life? These are the basic questions."

What was most eye-opening, and I believe I speak not only for myself, was watching Kiruna Starnell perform. It was my first time seeing a midget (pardon me, but I'm not aware of any more socially acceptable term) live and though I found it hard to reconcile her physical stature, I was blown away by her vociferous tirades (which memorably featured the brilliant one-liner "everyone wants luxury to be a pain in the ass").

Delivering admirable performances too were Eleni Edipidi, acting as a manic love-craving woman, with her almost acrobatic choreography and Harley Bartles, who was really convincing in his "broken" roles, particularly that of the soldier tricked by good intention into sexing a child prostitute.

The set - which is a lowly raised green platform with lights hanging from poles around its perimetres and six chairs on either sides - was strangely alluring and kept me thinking of a carnivalesque boxing ring on which the characters fought through life and off which they jeered at one another. I was also fascinated by the cinematic screen which was used for occasional subtitles and credits - it brought me a strange sense of comfort, or complacency, that is so characteristic of a drive-in.

"For All the Wrong Reasons" is madness that is by turns poignant and hilarious, pretty and grotesque, senseless and ordered. It is most imperative to catch it in it's premier beyond Europe in Singapore - well, as in the words of the actors, if only "for all the wrong reasons".

The Magical, Magnificent, Marvelous, Memorable, Mighty, Miraculous, Momentuous, Munificently Mealymouthed Monty Python!

It's god sent all the way from Ann Arbor, Michigan - The Complete Monty Python's Flying Circus 16-Ton Megaset - whoa hoo! A hunk of absurdist fun showered with blistering tears and bunny hops somewhere over the rainbow to that empty pot of platinum! Alas! This out-of-this-universe shuttle I've been pining for has arrived cashing in at a mere US$55 and, given the current forex, half the rip-off, daylight-robbery price of S$150 (S$149.90 actually, don't sue me) at HMV! So raspberries to all you un-Montys!! =P

Wenn der Winter Kommt

Ich habe kürzlich eine interessante deutsche Band entdeckt - die heißt "Element of Crime". Ich finde es sehr enttäuschend, dass die Leute in Singapur wenig Gelegenheiten haben, deutsche morderne Musik zu kennen lernen. Vom Album "Mittelpunkt der Welt" ist mein Lieblingslied "Wenn der Winter Kommt". Es erzählt von einem Mann, dem der Winter gefällt, weil seine Freundin wie derselbe Jahreszeit geheimnisvoll ist. Hier ist der Schlagertext:

During one of my recent cultural ventures, I discovered this German band called "Element of Crime". I'm not sure how popular it is in Germany, but I find its most recent studio album "Mittelpunkt der Welt" (Centre of the World), released in 2005, most charming. It is a great pity that in Singapore we do not get to know much about the contemporary German music scene, and much of my knowledge of it ended long before Stockhausen was buried last year. My favourite song from the above-mentioned album is entitled "Wenn der Winter Kommt" (When Winter Comes). Here are the lyrics:

Gefrorener Atem fällt klirrend vor mir in den Schnee
Es tut weh, wenn ein eiskalter Fuß an ein Hindernis stößt
Zum Naturfreund werd ich nicht mehr werden
Aber stolpernd folge ich dir
Durch deine Kindheitserinnerungswälder
Bis es dunkel wird, und dann folgst du mir

Am Himmel verblassen die Sterne
Deine Augen funkeln mich an
Seit ich dich kenne, mag ich es gerne
Wenn der Winter kommt - dann wird's früher dunkel

Eisige Wege erzwingen den Gang Arm in Arm
Warm wird mir überall da, wo du mich berührst
Auf Baggerseen soll man nicht wandeln
Aber vorsichtig folge ich dir
Auf das brüchige Eis deiner Jugend
Bis es dunkel wird, und dann folgst du mir

Am Himmel verblassen die Sterne
Deine Augen funkeln mich an
Seit ich dich kenne, mag ich es gerne
Wenn der Winter kommt - dann wird's früher dunkel

Da wo du wohnst funktioniert die Heizung nicht mehr
Und das Herz wird dir schwer, weil das Licht auf der Treppe nicht geht
Und du sagst das, als sei das die Wahrheit
Und fröhlich folge ich dir
Auf die Trampelpfade der Lüge
Bis es dunkel wird, und dann folgst du mir

Am Himmel verblassen die Sterne
Deine Augen funkeln mich an
Seit ich dich kenne, mag ich es gerne
Wenn der Winter kommt - dann wird's früher dunkel

Vom Trockenen Garten

Come 'round this gard'n where perfumes reek
To find here what you do not seek
From death there springs new life again
Where once were flow'rs fall'n leaves are lain

It was by sheer serendipity I made this astonishing discovery today - Karl Blossfeldt (1865-1932), an art professor in the Berlin College of Art with a passion for plants. Although he never defined himself as a professional photographer, he devoted attention to capturing the geometrical beauty of plants with a camera of his own creation that can zoom up to 30 times the original size. Blossfeldt produced some 6000 plant pictures and is most well known for his publications Unformen der Kunst (Art Forms in Nature), Wundergarten der Natur (Magic Garden of Nature) and Wunder in der Natur (Magic in Nature). Here are some of his works:

Garlic, Flower Umbel, 6x





















Maidenhair Fern, Unfurling Fronds, 12x




















Gourd, Squash, Tendrils, 4x





















Mallow Family, Seed Capsule, 12x

Confessions of an Economic Hit Man

by John Perkins

A hopeless Economics student back in school days, I was the last person to expect myself to read "Confessions of an Economic Hit Man". But since it was recommended by Frederick (who aspires, not very secretly, to be a corporate bastard), I thought it safer to protect myself against ruthless capitalists like him by upping my knowledge of the economic world.

John Perkins, in this autobiographical account, has revealed to me things I never thought I would know: the pervasive "corporatocracy" which I have hitherto lived comfortably by has been revealed to be relentless, remorseless and ruthless slave drivers. Aiming to driving developing countries into perpetual debt, conglomerate consulting/engineering firms bait poor countries into huge loans by exaggerating benefits from industrial development. As these countries are obliged to use the loan to hire the services of American companies, money effectively does not leave the US market. Only benefiting the richer few, these victimized countries are soon awashed with debts, which allows Washington to demand political or military loyalty.

Weaned on a society where GDP growth and material comfort are touted the key performance indicators of an effective government and society, I came to the sudden realization what cruel implications of my apathetic acceptance of the system may have. Am I gracing double-faced firms that try to lure me into a life of luxury while simultaneously, very consciously, shackling some other peoples into eternal oblivion? Am I then, to be complicit in this global miasma?

Much debate has been launched over this book, with both camps vehemently defending their stand. What significance this book has, in my opinion, is however not truth, but the bringing about of awareness. With it's intimate and forthright narration (albeit one that can get rather repetitious), Perkins successfully engages concern of his readers and exhorts them to taking more responsibility for their fellow humans.

Angela Hewitt: The Well-Tempered Klavier Book II

It is always exciting to watch a world famous musician perform live, and this time it was solo Canadian pianist Angela Hewitt, named Best Artist of 2006 by Gramaphone Magazine. On Sunday 27th April, I headed expectantly to Victoria Concert Hall with several of my MEP classmates, excited to hear her rendition of Bach's renowned Well-Tempered Klavier Book II

Much to my disappointment we arrived late, and by the time we entered, Hewitt was already on to the D Major. I was immediately entranced by her gentle rendition of my favourite piece in the collection and impressed by how subtly she brought out the intertwined lines in the fugue. But as she progressed through the first half of the programme, I was vaguely unsettled by the monotony of mood. Perhaps it was reverence for the hailed, and add to that the fact that I'm not a pianist, I did not dare to form any judgement against her.

During the interval, however, I was gently surprised to learn that many of my friends who went along were not impressed by her playing at all. Among their complaints were over usage of the suspension pedal (which according to Kwan Rui she warned against in her masterclass the previous day) , excessive tempo rubato, the deliberate obscuring of running lines etc. Reflecting on their comments, I found myself agreeing to some of their opinions. Indeed my impression of Bach's Prelude and Fugues had been one of gusto and punctuation, whereas Hewitt has decided on that night to imbue in almost every one of them an excessively, tediously phrased femininity.

"Many people still think that that's how you have to play his [Bach] music--stiff and unbending. If I can change that misconception on this tour, then I will be very happy!" - Angela Hewitt (http://www.angelahewitt.com/)

Evidently Hewitt set out to knock down some preconceptions on Bach's music, but though I think I had heard too from somewhere else that the Baroque stereotype of strict tempo and abstinence from pedaling is misguided, I found that her deliberate obscuring (for I do not doubt her technicality) of running lines while emphasizing salient phrases, and dramatic ritenuento at cadential points, though appealing to the layman, tended to rob the compositions of their polyphonic brilliance and also killed much of their kinetic drive.

I believe there could have been better renditions and perhaps less heavy repertoires, but paying $9 to watch Angela Hewitt was really a catch. Despite it being important to keep one's musical integrity, I frequently find myself deliberately overlooking differences in musical opinion so that I may just sit down for an evening and enjoy myself.

I was challenged with two exceptionally tough and brilliant logic problems today and thought I should share them. Don't be discouraged if you can't get the answers!

1. There was once a farm where 50 farmers lived and each of them owned a dog. The farmers and dogs were housed in a manner such that each farmer could see the dog of every single other farmer except for his own. One night, several of the dogs went mad and attacked the other livestocks that lived on the farm. On the following day (which we shall call Day 1), the 50 farmers realized that the mad dogs could be distinguished by their bloodied faces and bodies. The killings went on every night (during which the farmers do NOT wake up) until the morning of Day 11, when all the farmers who were certain that their own dogs were mad, simultaneously shot their own mad dogs. Given the fact that these farmers had no way of communicating with each other, and remembering that they cannot see their own dogs, how did they manage to figure out if their own dogs were mad, and how many dog were indeed mad?

2. A detention barrack once housed 500 detainees, all locked in separate cells such that it was impossible to observe the actions of one another. In addition to these cells, there was one unoccupied room, that has always been left unlit, with only a door (from which one can enter and exit) and a switch that was connected to a bulb in the room (which could be switched on or off). One day, the warrant of the detention barrack decided to gather these 500 detainees and struck a deal with them. He said, "I will choose one person at a time from your numbers at random to enter the [aforementioned unoccupied] room and repeat this procedure indefinitely. A person might be only called upon once, or maybe several times, consecutively or otherwise. If one of you can eventually tell me for certain that every one of the 500 of you has already entered the room, I will release all of you. Now you shall be given some time to discuss a stratagem amongst yourselves, after which all of you will return to your respective cells [where communication is impossible] and we shall begin." Without capabilities to leave any physical mark in the aforementioned room whatsoever, the detainees, however, eventually managed to secure their release. What was the stratagem they used?

I know they are long and convoluted, but I had to make the premises are set without ambiguity. I hope you enjoy solving them!

In a bid to be more gastronomically aware, I've actively sought to try out famed eateries on this culinary island of ours. On Saturday (19th April), Alan, Jonk, Nash and I broke out of our usual visits to town, barely veering from ending up in Marina Square, and visited the much talked about Botak Jones @ 412 Bedok North Ave 2. With a bill chequing in a little above $40, we gorged ourselves in a scrumptious meal flooded with chips (seriously, we had to take-away). Any worry of mine that we'll be sweating buckets was also mitigated by the breezy evening and emptying coffeeshop.

Barely 2 days after, my family and I visited Choon Seng Hng Restaurant @ Upp Bukit Timah Rd where we indulged ourselves in a refreshingly delectable salted-egg crab - even a non-crab lover like me consented to biting on one of the pincers. The service, unfortunately, wasn't up to standard - the waiters frequently lacked initiative and congeniality. However, it's obscure location did provide a pleasant escape from crowded eateries.

On another note, I read this amusing article on the International Herald Tribune: An Orchestra Wearing Earplugs? It's funny and poignant to imagine how the much regaled classical music, hitherto left to its natural decay, should be so unceremoniously discounted by laws prescribing work safety levels. This, however, will not be the end of its effects as this law encroaches on other forms of music - particularly the blaring anxiety of metal. What concerns me more, however, are its implications on the still teething genres on electro-acoustic music.

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I must shamefully admit that I fell asleep when I attended my first electro-acoustic concert in Birmingham - and how I regret that! When I heard that NAFA is presenting a similar concert, I did not have high hopes. But having recently been inspired to delve into the discipline of sound art, I attended anyway. Here's the poster:

For a concert of an hour in length, put together by amateurs, the it was actually not too bad. Well, at least I stayed the entire duration. There were pleasant moments tucked here and there, but on the whole, the compositions where rather uninspiring. They all followed a similar audio pattern (a symmetrical building and then releasing of tension) and have a predilection towards the loud and jarring. Much more could also have been done to explore the timbre and panning; too literal interpretations were also taken of themes that were much too sombre and - for lack of a kinder word - hackneyed. But for all it's shortcomings, I really like the set-up of the concert and how the spotlights focus on the individual performers as they present their works.

What was truly pleasant about the concert, however, was the fact that it came to pass and the audience strength was surprisingly high. Electro-acoustic being such a cutting edge art form is still in it's nascent stages in many countries and has hitherto only caught the attention of a niche community. If this is a harbinger of a more prolific future for electro-acoustic music, I am glad to have been involved in the appreciation of it.

With so much music in the air, a few of my friends and I also decided to play a game of musical exquisite corpse (inspired by Lucky 7, which was frustratingly rated R21). With it's birth in Starbucks @ The Cathy in a tattered paper bag, I, Ivana, Grace and Gareth shall begin our little game, each of us having 2 weeks to complete our individual parts of 5 minutes. Down this windy road, the near future promises fun, but holds too so much tantalizing mystery!

The Giver

It was most uncanny that I should have read this International Herald Tribune article about author Lois Lowry (http://www.iht.com/articles/2008/04/15/arts/lowry.php) only to discover when I got home that she was the author of the book that Ivana recommended me to read!

The Giver. This story follows Jonas who lived in a dysto-utopian society where the ignorant bliss in which all it's people lived depended solely on the efforts of the Receiver of Memory. At age 12, Jonas was appointed to be the succeeding Receiver, after which his life was turned head over heels as he made discoveries he never knew he could.

I must agree with Mehegan that Lowry definitely "doesn't talk down" to her readers. It is not the frank discussion of the myriad human emotions that make this story, but it's unabashed acknowledgment on how growing teenagers are, frequently, deliberate kept from them. Although the intention may be noble, as in "The Giver", the implication of it is cruel.

Because it lacks the layered nuances we find major literature, it is easy to dismiss this short story as a callow attempt at analyzing the human condition; but for a 3hr leisurely read, it was enrapturing. I was genuinely touched by the eponymous character and his apprentice's unpretentious affection for the host of emotions and experiences that human life has developed. In today's increasingly commercialized world where many lament the loss of humanity, this story serves as a gentle reminder to perhaps "stop and stare" and appreciate our existence for all its pains and pleasures.

So if you have the time to spare, just pick of this novella and enjoy.

The past few days have been most trying, shuttling about between work, RJ and home. My composition work with RJ S24 was made more exhausting having to deal with indecisive and uncoordinated people. I finally completed my share of work yesterday and will be awaiting their comments or requests for amendments (if they are ever going to contact me). I'm glad to have been given the chance to discover the wonders of using the synthesizer keyboard, on which I was very reliant.

Well, though celebrating the 444th anniversary of Shakespeare is not exactly very auspicious, come down and support the production if you can! It's on 23rd/24th April, 7pm @ RJC Performing Arts Centre (PAC). Tickets are priced at $8! Please contact Ju Ju at 9155-3202 for further enquiries.

At the same time, I met Mr Rollason during one of my visits to RJ and he enlisted my help to look for politically inspired music from 1945-2000. In my research, I came across a wonderful expanse of songs and instrumental pieces, the most fascinating of which was Nena's "99 Luftballons". This anti-Cold War song written in 1982 narrates how the accidental release of 99 balloons started a nuclear war.

And, boy, was I not jealous when Samantha disclosed the news to me today. Apparently, Philip Glass is visiting UMich on 18th April, with the Dalai Lama, as a guest speaker on Buddhism and Art! I'm not such a big fan of the religious part, but I sure am a fan of the composer! My! How I wish I could just courier my "Einstein on the Beach" over to get it autographed!

First Day at School

I recently stumbled upon this delightful poem by Roger McGough. Here it is:

First Day at School

A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)
Why are they all so big, other children?
So noisy? So much at home they
Must have been born in uniform
Lived all their lives in playgrounds
Spent the years inventing games
That don't let me in. Games
That are rough, that swallow you up.

And the railings.
All around, the railings.
Are they to keep out wolves and monsters?
Things that carry off and eat children?
Things you don't take sweets from?
Perhaps they're to stop us getting out
Running away from the lessins. Lessin.
What does a lessin look like?
Sounds small and slimy.
They keep them in the glassrooms.
Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.

I wish I could remember my name
Mummy said it would come in useful.
Like wellies. When there's puddles.
Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.
I think my name is sewn on somewhere
Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.
Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.

wwwwwwwwwwwby Roger Mc Gough

This poem also inspired a most adorable and clever video. I love the narration and the visuals are simple charming. Enjoy it at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUNUfI2oCbs

La Horas Del Dia

Director: Jaime Rosales
Starring: Alex Bredemuhl, Vincente Romero, Maria Antonia Martinez, Agata Toca

Not again – that was my first reaction to the recent report on campus shooting that occurred in University of Illinois on, ironically, Valentine ’s Day. The antagonist, one Steven Kazmierczak, 27, shot 27 students within 90 seconds, killing 5 of them, before turning the gun on himself. The love of murder seems to cling in the air, the fearful memories of the Virginia Tech incident having barely left us. The most worrying part, however, is how in both cases, and several others, the shooters are almost identified as quiet and reserved individuals who seem too mild to do bad.

In this light, ‘Le Horas Del Dia’, the second film screened on the 3^rd Spanish Film Fest at The Arts House, come to mind as really relevant in portraying the grinding psyche of the seemingly unperturbed – the restless sleep of the spinning top.

This story follows Abel – an ordinary man, with an ordinary job and life – through several ordinary daily problems and ordinary conversation: an entirely non-descript life with all it mundane repetitions. However, underneath his amicable and calm veneer, hidden in Abel is a murderer waiting for his next victim.

An unlikely thriller, “Las Horas Del Dia” is definitely not plot driven. In fact, it is quite the opposite. Shot entirely without music, the film puts Abel’s prosaic life in stark relief. Scenes change very slowly and a single action may take up to one minute of screen time; conversations are blatantly repeated at times and the silence between responses have no fillers to disperse the tense antagonism; locations are usually almost empty except for a few stragglers who randomly emerge.

The result is intensive – like the skin of the water stretch to its limits; a stone falls and creates a ripples in the pool that swiftly disappears. Upon this stagnant backdrop, Abel’s murders become inordinately gruesome, and poignant. He characteristically kills his victims by suffocation, a parallel to his own suffocating life of silent discontent. After every murder, Abel achieves a sort of catharsis and returns to his routines as if nothing had happened; then the cycle continues in its irrevocable, terrifying revolution, an idea reinforced by the film’s symmetrical timeline.

Evidently, the alienation of the city has not left us; couple that with increased globalization, the entire world is becoming a living tick-a-tock. Terrorists are only those who are more forthright with their discontent; buried in many of us is the same malignant tumor of discontent that may result in less vast, but equally inhumane actions. “Las Horas Del Dia” does not provide a solution (perhaps there isn’t any), but it does show that if nothing is done, the vicious cycle will simply go on, and on, and on.

Welcome to the Voices

I picked up “Welcome to the Voice” [2007] from the Esplanade Library yesterday, when I was desperately scanning the shelves for an interesting record. It was the inclusion of both Barbara Bonney and Sting, two singers I know come from vastly different genres, in this work that immediately caught my attention. Although Sting’s crossing over into the classical genre is not unprecedented (Songs From the Labyrinth [2006]), his participation in this project is of a vastly different nature – one where the pop voice is juxtaposed with the classical voice in an eclectic musical tapestry.

The story follows opera-stricken foundry worker Dionysius (Sting) battle myriad forces – ghosts of opera divas, factories worker, his friend (Robert Wyatt), a policeman (Elvis Costello) – that try to pry him away from his beloved opera singer (Barbara Bonney). A collaborative effort between Steve Nieve and Muriel Teodori, I think much of the credit should be conferred on the former, who wrote the music; the libretto, written by the latter, was a disappointment, to say the least.

To begin with, the premise of the story is unconvincing and rather trite. Blind passion is a common theme in operas of the past; but for a modern production, a lack of complex reasoning may appear as sluggishness in plot construct. When the musical closed in on the end with the question “The voices that bond us / do you know what it is?”, I had to suppress the urge to drawl a sarcastic “No?”. The diction is also at best charming - nothing spectacular. More often than not, however, the images invoked are awkward and confusing. Moreover, the scansion mismatches the music too frequently for comfort.

The music, on the other hand, is truly fascinating. Widely varied voices are brought together to weave a multi-fabricated tapestry of a desolate yet emotionally charged musical landscape: the sultry songs of Sting; the bright vocalization of Barbara; the broad deep intonation of Elvis etc. These strains are also placed in interesting combinations to effect an otherworldly sensation. Fortunately for me, the singers have neglected to enunciate the words, hence allowing me to enjoy the sounds without being hampered by the unkempt verbiage.

Another intriguing part of the composition is the instrumentation. It employs an impressive array of instruments ranging from the shakuhachi to the theremin and to the Brodsky Quartet. The music engages all of these instruments livelily, bouncing among the familiar comfort of a string quartet, the edgily electronic synthesizer and theremin, and the jazzy saxophone and guitar. The tone colours complement the harmonies, that vacillate between agreeable cadences and aimless wanderings to shape an affective emotional atmosphere.

On the whole, I find it a really agreeable project. Although it would have been more insightful if the diametric stereotyping of voices (the “sacred voices” of the operatic singers versus the “profane voices” of the pop singers) has not been imposed, the marriage of the two genres harkens a most interestingly new direction at the crossroads where the death of classical music and the inconsequence of pop music meet.